


Sing for me, Jailbird!

by WeCanDoIt



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Hints of Mental Illness, Hints of racism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence, a frerard prison fic, actual prison rape later on, dangerous nutcase!gerard, hints of past Gerard/Bert, hints of suicidal ideas, mentions of prison rape, really fucking cynical asshole!frank, so basically this is a prison fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 17:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCanDoIt/pseuds/WeCanDoIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm gonna have sex with you", he said casually, feet dangling from the edge of his bed. I almost choked on the piece of gum I was chewing.<br/>“What?” I replied calmly, slowly turning around in my chair. He only clicked his tongue and continued staring at me with his huge eyes.<br/>“I said-“<br/>“I know what you said”, I cut him off; “and just in case you didn’t hear my exclaim of utter confusion, I’ll repeat it: what. the. actual. fuck?”<br/>He tilted his head a little, before parting his lips into a small smile.<br/>“Like I said, I’m gonna have sex with you.”<br/>_________________________________________________________________________</p>
<p>Iero, Frank. 24 years old. White. Inmate number 6404. Charge: Fourth Degree Drug Distribution. Previous served prison sentences: 2. </p>
<p>Way, Gerard. 28 years old. White. Inmate number 4935. Charge: Manslaughter. Previous served prison sentences: none.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Folsom

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a chaptered fic, but it also will be rather short(I don't have it all written out just yet, but I won't exceed 15k words.) so be warned that I play by the rules of the real world ONLY TO A CERTAIN EXTENT. So while I TRY to give it an authentic vibe, I'm no law student and much of what you will come across in this fic is a product of my mind. ;)  
> That said, I hope you will enjoy it!

Ugh, I hate prison. And what I hate even more are prison transfers. I mean why bother with locking me up in max security just to have me transferred a couple of months later? Where’s the point?

Apparently, there is none. It’s because the fucking prisons in this fucking country are fucking ratholes stuffed to the hilt with scum like me – at least that’s what the warden said at my ‘admission’(his words as well. What a ray of fucking sunshine.)  
Okay, maybe that’s not exactly what the warden said, because just like most other people the warden is a stuck up hypocrite who likes to puff up and sugarcoat even the simplest fucking things as if he was talking to a five year old. And while patience definitely isn’t a virtue I’d call my own, I had to bite it down, figuring losing my shit right now wouldn’t do me any good. 

“Mr. Iero, I’m afraid we have to accommodate you here in State Elms for a while, since most our lower level facilities are hopelessly overcrowded at this time being.”  
 _That’s_ what he said. Pretentious asshole. 

“This is max. I got caught selling less than a fuckin’ ounce of pot, I didn’t even get two years; why put me in max?” I asked. Not that I didn’t deserve being put in maximum security; just not for the crime I’d been caught with. 

“Again I’m afraid the only information I can share with you thus far is that we simply have no space to place you elsewhere at this point, Mr. Iero.” He parted his plump lips into an obnoxious, toothy grimace that brought even more focus to his double chin. I found myself fighting the urge to spit right into his face.  
The bastard was mocking me, and he wasn’t even doing it subtly. I was used to being mocked – see when you are my size wearing my face and try to survive on the streets all you receive is mockery – until you manage to attach a certain name to yourself. Which I did. Also, I paid my dues to every single cocksucker who thought it funny to try and make my life miserable when I was still trying to gain ground. I’m proud to say I left not even a single one of the bastards untreated. They all got what they deserved, more or less at least, and I got away with it. 

And now they managed to catch me selling barely an ounce of pot to some jagged up jackass around a corner – that’s gonna be bad for the reputation I’m currently trying to build. Fuckin’ irony. But I appreciate a nice, dark sense of humor as much as the next one; and life usually tends to have the darkest.  
Besides, it had become pretty risky for me lately, with a lot of people wanting a piece of my ass (one of my former suppliers thinking I conned them, which is bullshit but I’ll save that story for another day) so I actually kind of welcomed my sentence as a chance to get off the streets until things cooled down a little.

“But, Mr. Iero”; and there I snapped out of my thoughts, forcing myself to focus my attention back on the fat pig in a cheap suit, almost crushing the poor leather chair he was sitting on.  
He was breathing heavily while leaning forward, as if the small movement alone was an exhausting task to him. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from chuckling; it was only a matter of time until that guy’s inner organs would simply collapse from his obesity.  
When he finally managed to grab my file he gave a satisfied little grunt and started flicking through it with his short, fat fingers.  
I found my own fingers twitching and god; I can’t remember when I last felt the urge to hit someone that bad. “I see here that this isn’t your first time behind bars, so I’m sure you will manage to adjust yourself here in State Elms just well.” He was grinning that rat-like grin again and I only managed to glare at him. Of all the pretentious assholes I’d come across in my life so far, this one was the worst. I’d bet a finger that this obese piece of crap hadn’t set foot into his own prison’s cell block even once in his miserable life.  
I snorted quietly; settling with a smirk. 

“I bet not”, I purred, leaning back in my chair a little. “I mean what’s sharing cells with rapists and murderers, right? What’s having to have meals with pedophiles and butchers who like slicing up skin for a hobby?” My smirk grew even wider upon seeing as he began squirming uncomfortably in his seat.  
That’s right pig; I have you by your unwashed, hairy balls.  
“I’m just saying it won’t be difficult figuring out whose hands my blood will be on”, I said casually, narrowing my eyes only the slightest bit. 

“Alright, uh-”, the warden uttered after an – at least for him – uncomfortable pause; clearing his throat awkwardly, a stiff tone to his voice. He then shook his head subconsciously as if snapping out of something and waved over the CO that had been positioned at the door for the time I’d been in the warden’s office; just in case I’d try anything.  
Ha, how pathetic. The fun hadn’t yet begun, so I saw no reason in ‘trying’ anything.  
“Mr. Iero, I guess we’re done here. Officer Phearson will help you get rid of your belongings and bring you to your cell.”  
I noticed with satisfaction that his smile was wavering a little when he stood up to see me out. I lifted myself up my chair smoothly, giving him a small nod and then turning on my heel to find Phearson glaring at me.  
I thought I’d fuck with him a little, so I winked at him flirtatiously, adding “Chins up dude, prison ain’t that bad, right?”  
When he grabbed my hands way rougher than necessary in order to cuff them I realized I had made my first enemy. Which wasn’t too bad considering it really wasn’t my first time in prison and I kind of knew how far I could go, but then again – I’d only been in minimum security so far, never in max. So I figured I’d better tone it down a little until I figured out how things worked round here. 

 

\---

 

My wrists hurt.  
I mean I hadn’t been restrained for at least one full day now, but they still hurt. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in solitary that long, but on psych, the SHU is different from the one for the normal cell blocks. Okay, admittedly, I’d never seen the SHU they had for none-freaks, I’d only heard stories about it. But it wasn’t like this.  
Here, the walls are padded. No, I’m not kidding, they really are padded, so you don’t hurt yourself. The stupid morons tend to forget that there are a million ways to hurt yourself even when the walls and floor are padded and you’re left with nothing but your own body, but admittedly, they’d made it harder.  
For example, I’d tried to rip out the veins in my wrist with my teeth a few months ago and they restrained me for that for two consecutive weeks. They made me pee through a catheter – I never tried anything like that again. Trust me, you don’t ever want to lose all of your mobility and find yourself staring at a blank white ceiling for a seemingly endless period of time because there are no windows around you, only walls, so you never know what time it is, whether it’s morning or night, Tuesday or Sunday, because it all looks, feels and tastes the fucking same. 

“Morning Gerard”, Stanley greeted me as he opened the – also padded – door to my own private solitary palace. Stanley Mullins was a CO in his, what, like mid-30s with a wife and two kids waiting for him in a neat little home in the suburbs and oh, he was also the one person in that prison that was treating me like a human being. Since none of the other COs wanted being close to me due to my ‘psychotic episodes’ (which were really just severe panic attacks, but the doctors here don’t know scrap), he’d taken over the task of bringing me my meals or informing me once a week that again, no one of my relatives had found the time to come visit me. Stanley would always fill the room with chatter, not minding that I would seldomly talk back, even when he asked me stuff about myself, like how I was doing that day and shit. I don’t know why; but while I despised every other’s presence, I really enjoyed Stanley’s. Also, there wasn’t a day where he was in a bad mood. I really couldn’t see how he managed that with working in the most crap filled hellhole of a prison on the surface of this earth, but he somehow did.  
I had yet to unveil his secret.

Needless to say, I was startled that morning, when he came to fetch me off SHU with a stony expression on his face. I wasn’t sure why, but it made me nervous.  
“Stanley”, I was a little taken aback by how raspy my voice was from staying unused most of the time. “What happened? You look a little pale…” I said it jokingly, slowly getting up from my crouched position on the floor.  
Stanley only stared at me, gripping the bunch of keys in his hand with a force that turned the skin on his knuckles white.  
“Gerard, I’m sorry”, he began sternly, motioning for me to come up to him. I flinched a little but complied, slowly beginning to freak out. Stanley had never acted like this before, so what the fuck had happened? Had one of my parents died? Had something happened to Mikey? I swallowed hard, trying not to let the blank fear that had begun wrecking through my guts show on my face.  
My hands were shaking as I held them up for him to cuff. 

“I’m sorry Gerard”, Stanley said, voice heavy; “but you are being transferred.”  
My mind went blank and I just blinked at him, dumbly.  
“What?” I didn’t understand. They couldn’t transfer me to the others, I was in psych. I belonged in psych. I wasn’t fit to live with normal people, the psych warden had said so himself.  
“I’m sorry Gerard, I only got briefed today. I’m to transport you immediately over to cell block C.” he looked at me sympathetically.  
I could _feel_ my own heart drop.  
“No”, I breathed out, faintly starting to struggle against the cuffs, then shaking my head with a force that sent my hair flying around. “No, no, no Stanley, they can’t do that, they can’t put me away from psych; I need my medication! I need my fucking medication!” I realized I’d started panicking when Stanley grabbed both my shoulders, forcing me to look at him.  
“Gerard please calm down; I’ll have to restrain you if you don’t calm down right now!”  
“I will NOT fucking calm down Stanley, you know what they do to guys like me out there! I will- I will, I will-“ I looked around the cell, frantically searching for anything I could put to my use; “I’ll fucking hang myself if you transfer me!” I shrieked hysterically.  
Stanley’s unexpectedly sharp slap brought me back to my senses and I clutched my stinging cheek, panting heavily.  
“Sorry for that”, he muttered, patting my shoulder slightly. “But if you kept screaming like that, they would’ve had to sedate you, Gerard. And then they’d have you locked away where they put only the craziest and Gerard I swear by the life of my kids you don’t ever want to go there! ‘Cause once you disappear behind those doors”, he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me out of my cell into the tiled hallway, forcing me to look at the heavy doorframe that closed up the solitary area; “there ain’t no coming back!”

I figured he was probably only trying to scare me, but I didn’t want to give it a try. And I really couldn’t take any more time being alone and locked up in solitary confinement with nothing more than my own screaming mind as company. But on the other hand – I knew I’d been safe in psych for the longest time, ‘cause that’s where the crazies are. And the crazies are so occupied with their own craziness they don’t give a shit about who you are or how you look; most of the time they won’t even notice your presence. But at the normal cell blocks, there were the real criminals. Rapists, murderers, pedophiles, mafia – the sick, the corrupt, the perverted; they were all there, gathered together, and I knew perfectly well what would happen to a guy like me once I’d be thrown into the cage with the vultures – I’d gotten a taste when I first arrived here.  
Thinking about it I figured I probably wouldn’t even make it one week in max before they’d have to carry me out in a bag. 

Still shuddering violently I tried to focus my gaze back on Stanley, grabbing the lapels of his uniform jacket in an act of sheer desperation. 

“Oi, Mullins!” Stenski suddenly called over. He was the second CO in charge of the psych ward, alongside Stanley. “Is Way getting handsy?”  
While he wasn’t nearly as nice as Stanley, he was no monster – however, he wasn’t known to be someone who fucked around – he would beat some sense into me if necessary to calm me down and it wouldn’t even have been the first time.  
I rushed to let go of Stanley’s jacket, irritated by the faint rattling of the cuffs around my wrists.  
“Nah, everything is alright!” he called and then turned back, staring at me insistently; “everything _is_ alright, right Gerard?”  
I nodded and lowered my head in defeat, noticing how Stanley’s shoulders immediately relaxed with relief next to me.  
I kept silent the whole way back through psych, until we reached the wing of the building that attached cell blocks B and C together, which was the point where Stanley’s scope ended and he had to hand me over to whoever was in charge of cell block C. My knees felt wobbly by the time and I had a rather hard time to keep my distress from showing on my face. 

“Alright then, Gerard”, Stanley said and patted my shoulder one last time, exchanging a quick look with the CO(now that I was close enough to read his nametag I noticed his name was Marone – I’d never heard of him during my time here) who was about to take me off to my new cell.  
Even though Marone had one eyebrow raised he thankfully kept his mouth shut – correctional officers being on close terms with inmates was after all not exactly a common thing in State Elms.  
Stanley threw me one last sympathetic glance, muttering “Look out for yourself, okay? And don’t fucking get into any trouble, Gerard, promise me that!”  
I nodded slowly, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. My panic had died down and made room for a certain numbness I usually only felt after getting sedation for one of my episodes that usually got me into SHU.  
When Marone suddenly put a hand on my back and started guiding me towards block C I spun around, yelling “Wait, Stanley”; earning a prompt sharp tug on my arm from Marone. “Uh, I mean Officer Mullins! Please go to the warden! See my attorney! They can’t get me out of psych, ple-“  
“I will”, Stanley cut me off firmly, probably to keep me from saying anything I could regret. “Now go, Gerard.”

I turned on my heel and set forward, my shoulders dropping. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and angrily tried to bite them down. The last thing I intended on doing was allowing for them to catch me crying – that would literally be like tattooing a welcome sign all over my forehead.  
We walked in silence for a while before I felt Marone’s hand trail down to settle on the small of my back to gently push me forward, and I felt my blood begin to boil. I knew what he was trying to do and I didn’t like it one bit.  
“Keep your fucking dirty paws off me” it was a low growl, but I knew it would do its work.  
And it did.  
Marone actually stopped in his tracks and grabbed my arm to roughly turn me to face him.  
“Are you really that deranged?” he shook me and I took it, staring at him coldly. “Have you looked into a mirror in the last two years you’ve spent here? You really think with a face like that you’re gonna survive out there? Princess, they are gonna be all over you. All of them at once, probably. The last one that had something like that happen to him offed himself. Hung himself with a towel. You wanna die, stupid bitch? Be my guest. But if not-“, he put his hand on my cheek, slowly tracing my skin. “I can protect you. And there aren’t even any favors involved. Not yet, at least! Think about it, 4935.”  
I can’t even begin to describe how sick the touch of that man made me. NO ONE got to touch me without having to pay for it; not even Stanley. That was unwritten law – fortunately, most of the time no one even wanted to in the first place.  
So I did what you would expect from someone like me and turned my head quick as a flash, sinking my teeth into his palm and biting down hard. After all I was officially labeled insane, gotta act like it, right?  
“Thought about it. The answer is no.”  
I had expected the blow to the face that followed, so it didn’t hurt that much. The look in Marone’s eyes was furious though; making me realize that I would probably get to pay for hurting his pride like that, but I had little time to focus on that just now. 

Because the next moment Marone had me grabbed firmly by my arm, shoving me forward, making the last thing I heard right before the deafening sound of the security gates opening went on be “Enjoy the grave you buried yourself, fucking nutjob.”


	2. San Quentin

I was surprised actually, to find that this prison wasn’t that much different from the last ones I’d been in. The COs were the same, the shitty overalls were the same, the food made of 100% crap was the same. My cell wasn’t even that bad, except my cellmate hadn’t yet arrived so there was still potential for a bad surprise.  
Making my way over to the lunch hall I even felt kind of curious about my new situation. Of course, at first glance even the gang system resembled the one of the last prison I’d spent time in.  
Which had also been the first real prison I’d been in after juvie - I’d been to juvie when I was 16 and it’s a thing I’d rather erase from my mind permanently. Ask me about it and I can promise you with the inevitableness of the Amen in a prayer I _will_ hit you. Hard.  
After I got released right before my 17th birthday from a sentence that didn’t even last half a year (thank god my shitty lawyer did one thing right and got me up for parole) I temporarily tried to drown the memories with alcohol and drugs. Didn’t work for me though, I found that I preferred my mind clear of any bullshit – because that’s the thing with drugs. They alter your mind in all kinds of directions, but at the end they just push you off your path, and I liked being clearly on focus. I liked being the one with a plan, the one with control. And my plan was to get out of Jersey, and off to someplace else. I was in no rush though, so I figured I had enough time to save up some money. That’s why I started dealing the shit that tried to get me hooked on it; selling it to poor bastards who weren’t as lucky as I was with avoiding addiction instead. 

The plump, grey-ish pile of food the lunch guy had dropped on my plate looked a lot like garbage, but bringing my nose closer and taking a sniff I realized it didn’t even smell half bad. Actually, it smelled a bit like the cheap chili they served at shelters in Newark, and I’ve always liked that. Upon hearing the impatient growl of my empty stomach I started walking faster, scanning the room for a quiet place to sit. Just as I was passing one of the tables, a hand darted out, trying to grab a hold of my butt-ugly prison shirt.  
I’d already seen it coming out of the corner of my eye so I smoothly ducked away, stopping in my tracks, balancing the tray on my hands and quirking an eyebrow at the insolent little piece of crap that had tried grabbing me.  
The guy put both his hands up in a disarming manner, cracking a smile. 

“Eh, no need to worry amico, I didn’t mean to grab ya and make ya my bitch-”  
Laughter erupted from his table. I let my gaze roam over the bunch of cunts sat there, letting it linger on each of them just long enough to see the irritation creep up their faces. I was aware of what power my eyes could hold and fuck me if I’d ever had any kind of second thoughts using them.  
Just like my stepdad used to say on the rare occasions he didn’t hit me because he was too fucking scared of me – I had the eyes of the devil. _Gli occhi del diavolo._  
Was a religious fanatic, and a methhead, my stepdad. All his Jesus crap didn’t do him any good when I slit his throat though.

I settled on a calm smile; trusting my murderous gaze to do the rest.  
“So, what’s it then you want?”  
“I just wanna have a chat, that’s all!” the guy said, and I was starting to get a little more than annoyed. His skin was tan and his accent prominent, apart from that he looked like the prototype henchman from a cheap mafia flick, so he probably _was_ mafia.  
“You got a name, amico?” I had difficulties in keeping myself from rolling my eyes; that guy was definitely taking himself a little bit too serious.  
“Iero”, I said. “Frank Iero.”  
The guy’s face visibly lit up and promptly the whole fucking table burst into busy chatter.  
“You Italian?” the guy asked suddenly. As if that was of any import.  
“Half Italian”, I said. “My mother is from Sicily.”

For a split second there was dead silence, then the guy sprang up and hugged me, kissing me right and left on the cheek like we were actual fucking family and almost causing me to drop my goddamn food in the process.  
“Alright then Iero, sit with us!” he offered me a huge grin; motioning for me to sit down at the one free chair left at the table. “The family looks out for each other.”  
This time I rolled my eyes ever so subtly, because that guy was a fuckin joke; but flashed him a brief grin and sat down nonetheless, figuring it’d be better to have some friends than to piss of an entire fucking gang of cons at my first day.  
He was nodding eagerly as I sat down; patting his chest. “Emilio DeLotta; I’m in charge around here.”  
So no henchman, huh? The real deal, obviously. Well, either mafia had gotten sloppier than I thought or this particular specimen wasn’t as dumb as he looked. I gave him a small nod and in return, the whole fucking round started introducing themselves. God I was already regretting having joined them.  
What a bunch of morons. 

Once everyone was done shoving their names and fucking interests into my face (what was this, fucking speed-dating?); they tried getting some information out of me, but I kept my answers vague. I didn’t see any point in telling a bunch of inbred spaghetti-wankers my whole life story.  
They gave up after a while though and let me eat the vomity-looking pile of food on my plate in peace, which I was really fucking grateful for, to be honest. 

Well, at least for a few seconds, because then shit suddenly got loud.  
The mechanic swing doors of lunch hall were opened and a CO stepped in, obviously a newbie in tow. I didn’t even bother looking up from my meal; the poor fucker arriving didn’t graze my interest one last bit.  
And poor he was indeed, by the number of catcalls he immediately received. 

“Eh pretty, what hole did you crawl out of?”  
“Look at that, he’s even wearing his wedding dress!”  
“Thanks for bringing in dessert, Boss!” 

– and those were just the more creative ones. Then, much to my distaste, the whole fricken room was suddenly obnoxiously noisy, filled with nasty laughter and even nastier callings and at a certain point I just had enough.  
“Dammit, what’s everyone losing their shit over?” I asked Emilio, who much to my surprise looked as disinterested as I did.  
“They brought a new one”, he shrugged. “Judging by the white junk hanging from his body I’d say they transferred him here from psych.”  
Ah, a nutjob. I leaned back in my seat and turned around to have a look at the scene. The CO that had been bringing him in had simply stopped to have a chat with one of his acquaintances on lunch duty, leaving the con beside him stand there, hands cuffed and head bowed. He had his face hidden behind an impressively wild mop of jet black hair, and his hands were trembling slightly even though he was gripping the chain between the cuffs hard to keep from showing it.  
I sighed at the lewd things thrown his way and was about to turn back to my meal again when something happened so fast I almost missed it. 

It began with some 6’5 feet Hispanic butcherface making his way slowly over to the dude in white and that useless piece of a correctional officer that didn’t even bat a lash at the fact the man in his custody got harassed right next to him.  
Frankly though, that didn’t surprise me much. COs were all more or less the same bunch of perverted, inbred sickos that secretly got off of situations like that. The son of a bitch even stepped aside from the nutjob a little, probably to offer the walking burrito better access to his chosen victim.  
But the crazy – I honestly doubt he even took notice of what was going on around him. They probably had him so high on meds the inside of his brain was looking like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. 

“Hey baby”, the guy slurred at him with a heavy Spanish accent. “Why don’t you come visit me later on, eh?”  
When the man in white gave no reply he stepped closer and closer, until he was looming right over him. Now almost the whole fucking lunch hall had agreed that that was some interesting shit going on – even the fucking officers had turned to stare, all eagerly wondering what would happen next. I wondered what it was exactly they were expecting; a fucking rape right in front of their eyes? Right on that table? This is humanity, I thought, and it sickened me. _This is what people are like._  
I was about to turn back to my meal when suddenly a collective mumbling went through the hall.  
The nutcase had lifted his head and was now staring right through his pesterer and into nothing, empty eyes gaping from behind heavy bangs. There were a few whistles and I knew as well as he probably did – given the circumstance he had any sane piece of brain left – that he was done.  
They would rip him apart, so much was clear. They would _want_ him to break. I swallowed bitterly. That’s the price you had to pay for a pretty face. For showing vulnerability.

I knew that better than anyone else. 

 

But this fucker wasn’t my problem. He wasn’t my damn responsibility. Who was I to care whether he got beat up, assaulted, killed – I haven’t given a single shit about other people so far and I sure as hell won’t start with it right now. Besides, that whim was a lost cause anyway. No one with brains would protect him, not even if he’d turn out to have a giant stash of smokes or be an ace in cock-sucking.  
He was done for, simple as that. I’d simply do my time here, get out and keep my eyes on my goal, end of line.

“Look at him”, the piece of meat boomed, waving his giant hands around in front of the black haired’s face. “What a fuckin looney! He’s so far gone I bet he wouldn’t even notice a dick in his ass until it’s ripping him in two!”  
The entire room erupted in laughter while the nutcase just kept staring holes into the wall or whatever, his face void of any kind of reaction.  
“Yeah go get him, José!” someone called.  
“Make him your bitch!”

And then, as soon as it had appeared, the tension dissipated and the room slowly filled with chatter again, everyone turning back to their meals or conversations.  
Until José made the sorry decision to try ‘marking’ his property. 

I don’t know why I’d decided to keep my attention on the scene but I’m glad I did or I would have missed out on something really fucking incredible.  
José, who was now only a few inches apart from the dude in white suddenly reached out and cupped the other one’s ass, giving it a really nasty, degrading squeeze.  
And then, as fast as a bullet the guy’s eyes suddenly flicked to life, the void expression from before gone and he was whirling around and – fuck – I’ve been replaying that scene so often in my mind and still have no fucking idea how he did that, especially with his hands still cuffed together. Because all he did was grab one of José’s giant hands in between his and then he like jumped up and rolled over José’s shoulder, still holding his fucking hand and yanking it back with him until a deafeningly loud, sickeningly sharp crack could be heard and José was on his knees in an instant, clutching his useless limb and howling in pain.

I was baffled. And impressed. The nutjob had cleanly broken José’s fat arm with his own hands still cuffed together – that was some fucking martial art shit right there. And when he towered over the Hispanic I swear I saw a manic smirk ghost over his lips, if only for a heartbeat. 

“Don’t _ever_ touch me again” it was a low hiss of a voice rarely used, sounding raspy and a little nasal. 

The moment was broken mere seconds after that though, when one of the COs (oh NOW they were suddenly alive) sprung into action and brought his baton down on the black haired man’s back, sending him to his knees with disturbing ease. He didn’t even make a sound; his eyes looking empty again.  
“You just earned yourself a nice little private time in SHU, you worthless, deranged piece of shit”, the CO snapped at him, grabbing his jaw when the man gave no reaction. I had to admit, now I felt intrigued – I didn’t think he was _that_ far off the crazy grounds, because I know what I saw – that deadly flicker in his eyes; that short flash of satisfaction as we all heard the bone snap and the muscle tear; he was a sadist deep down.  
The mere fact made him so much more interesting. He gave a small groan as the COs hauled him back to his feet and proceeded to drag him out of the hall while two other came running to scrape up the remains of José, whose sole words – or rather howls – were “You gonna pay for that, _puta_! You gonna pay!”

 

I have to admit, I’d not been expecting my first lunch in maximum security to be that entertaining. Satisfied, I turned back to my meal. If there was one person in this prison interesting enough to meet, it was this man.  
And I was so looking forward to seeing him snap maybe a few other people’s bones before they put him back in psych and locked him away forever, my toes got all tingly. 

 

Next to me I heard someone chuckling. I turned to see what’s so funny, but the guy just sat there, chuckling bitterly.  
“What the hell dude-“, I asked, more interested than pissed, knowing with someone as easily bitched as the mafia I had to watch my tone. The guy, Marco if I was remembering right, shook his head slowly; swallowing the bite he was munching on. “Oh nothing, I just figured it’d probably not be smart to enter the showers alone for the next few days, that’s all.”  
When I raised an eyebrow, he kind of grinned conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “See, that freak just broke old José’s fuckin’ arm. And while not even they take him for serious, cuz let’s face facts; he’s just a moronic fucking faggot; the Hispanic section won’t tolerate some random white boy breaking José’s fucking arm – they’d want revenge. Especially since he’s Fernando’s deranged little brother.”

I didn’t even need to ask who Fernando was, one glance at the table of the Enchilada fuckers told me all I needed to know. There was one man standing out, looking like he just got kicked in the balls. He was out for blood, and something just told me the only kind of blood that would satisfy him was raven-haired’s.  
I sighed. You’d figure behind bars life would get somewhat easier, but it just becomes more primal, that’s all. You have the same stupid fights about honor, right and property you have in the outside world, only way more fucking primitive.  
It’s all honor here and reputation there, when in reality those things only serve to create the illusion of having things under control when actually, you are forced to deposit every little bit of control you previously had over your life together with your other belongings at the gates of this prison, and just like your other stuff it gets stolen or shared around until you leave this shithole with little more than a crumpled dollar in your pocket and a sorry shrug. 

So excuse me when I find ‘honor’ in prison a ridiculous concept. There exist little things behind bars that are more filled to the hilt with hypocrisy than the so called idea of ‘honor’.  
That aside, I was certain this Fernando was indeed the leader of the Hispanic gang and felt obligated to seek some kind of revenge on the nutjob out of two reasons mainly: one, because the fat imbecile that just got his arm snapped was indeed his brother and two – and much more importantly – because he’d lose his fucking reputation if he’d let a scrawny little piece of crap get away with that. Even though they were probably scared fucking shitless now. That’s one thing that doesn’t change from prison to prison – everyone avoids the crazies. Because everyone knows they are loose-cannons; unpredictable and in their own way dangerous like a badly oiled switchblade. 

I try not to let any of that crap affect me, though. That’s how I learned to live my life; both in jail and in the outside world. I don’t waste anything on playing for any team because at the end of the day, the only one you can trust is yourself. People lie, people betray, people stab you in the back. That’s just what happens. That’s why I was rather regretting having sat with the mafia, because for one, those tend to be clingy as fuck; and second, I _prefer_ being on my own. But since I was only gonna be at State Elms for a few stupid months I figured why not, maybe it’s gonna be fun after all.  
The next prison they’re going to send me to, I won’t bond. With anyone. I won’t sit with anyone, let alone look at anyone. If someone gets at me, I’m going to show them their place, but that’s it.  
I’m going to do my time and get back out on the streets, sell my stash and then just leave the fucking country. Leave fucking Jersey behind, leave the goddamn united states of hypocrisy behind.  
Go see what the ocean looks like when it’s not polluted. 

I nodded at Emilio and Marco and the other wankers and grabbed my tray; putting it away and then slowly walking back over to the cells. While I was walking and trying to block out the headache-inducing noise that seemed to be ever present in prison, my thoughts kept wandering back to the freak in the lunch hall. I wondered what his crime was. He didn’t look like a cold-blooded killer; I mean if you looked at him, he didn’t _look it_. But his eyes… there was something about his eyes that held a fair amount of cruelty.  
I couldn’t help looking forward to seeing him again.

 

\--

 

The walk over to solitary was a short one, and the whole way over I could practically _feel_ Marone’s shark like grin in my back.  
Panicking a little, I noticed that in whole contrary to the SHU on psych, these cells were far smaller and pitch black. Dark.  
 _Darkness._  
I hated darkness. I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, silently wishing for the unforgiving neon lights on psych, but they weren’t there when I re-opened them, it was still all darkness. Marone seemed to savor the look on my face as he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pulled me so close I could feel his disgusting, moist breath on my cheek. I tried to turn my face away the best I could as I heard him chuckling.  
“This isn’t called ‘The Hole’ for nothing, Way. If you got any piece of brain left, you kill yourself as long as you’re in here – it won’t get better once you’re out!” Then, with a cruel laugh he shoved me back hard into the cell, slamming the door with a force that left a ringing sound in my ears as it crashed against its steel frame. I stumbled backwards blindly, tripping over a small metal bedframe; trying to catch myself with my hands but forgetting they were still cuffed together and thus failing; landing on my bruised back on the cement ground with a dull thump. Upon hitting the floor a sharp pain surged through it, causing me to suck in a sharp breath. 

After a while of blindly fumbling around for my surroundings I managed to pull myself ontop of the thin, old mattress, turning to my side and curling up; arranging my hands in a way they wouldn’t hurt too much after lying there a few hours and just listened into the silence. 

It was consuming. I couldn’t even hear the faint screams or thumps or talking of others, if there even were any.

This was a whole different kind of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if it's necessary to put up any kind of glossary for the few Italian/Spanish phrases I used here, because imho they're pretty self-explanatory, but in case anyone needs it, I'll do it anyway. :3
> 
> amico - pal  
> Gli occhi del diavolo - The eyes of the devil.   
> puta - whore


	3. Fox River

The next few days weren’t particularly interesting. I spent most of my time either lying on my bunk reading Frankenstein for what must have been the six hundredth time or down in what they call the ‘lounging room’ – which is basically just a blank room with an old TV set, a few sofas and a couple of coffee tables thrown in that the other cons mostly use to gamble – playing poker. Since you usually don’t really have much stuff to call your own in prison and cigarettes are the most coveted good around, we played for smokes. It didn’t take long and I had managed to gather quite an impressive little pile of the thin white cancer sticks beside me and the others at the makeshift poker table were either glaring at me or watching me with a mixture of anger and awe. 

“I’m impressed”, Stonzo grunted after a while – he had lost the last round pretty bad; “I had no idea you were such a good player”  
He had that certain twist to his voice when he said that, that told me he would really like to kick me in the balls right about now. I narrowed my eyes; pulling my lips into a lopsided smirk.  
“Signori, it’s been an honor playing with you, if even an easy one, but I’m done for today.” With that I scraped up my prize and stood up to leave the table.  
“Fuck you, Iero!” Stonzo suddenly boomed; “You conned me you little fucker, you’re gonna give it back right now!” I froze and turned around slowly.  
“Like fuck I will”, I hissed.  
Stonzo was in my face in the blink of an eye; grabbing hold of the back of my neck in a crushing grip. I pressed my lips together but didn’t cower, even as he began squeezing and it really started to hurt. We were having this standoff under the eyes of the rest of the players for a few agonizing moments until Stonzo suddenly loosened his grip and burst into heartfelt, booming laughter.  
“Dammit Iero, you’re one of a kind! I was just messing with you amico, relax!” I allowed myself to let out a low breath, eyes never leaving his face. The fucker had played me. I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching.  
“You didn’t even flinch, Iero, I’m impressed.” Stonzo added and bumped me on the shoulder in what was supposed to be a friendly way, but it didn’t fool me. Should I have done anything to piss him off; he’d have snapped my neck without remorse. “For someone your size that’s not bad. You have guts my friend, and I respect that.”  
I merely smirked again and then nodded at him a little; exiting the room without any further words. 

 

I was on my bunk reading Frankenstein when they brought him. Someone tapped his baton against the bars of my cell and I found myself sighing in annoyance, covering my face with the book. I was _not_ in the mood for any shit some asswipe of a CO could have in stock for me.  
“Iero!” a baritone voice called. It wasn’t easy to learn the names of all the COs in charge of cell block C in just three and a half days; but I was slowly getting there. Besides, it would come in handy knowing who’s currently been talked about when eavesdropping on prison gossip. So I figured, and it turned out I was right, that the CO with the deep voice currently talking was a tall, stoic African American named Jackson Healy. The other inmates didn’t talk much about him, so my knowledge was limited.  
“Time to wake up princess, your cellmate has arrived from vacation!”  
Well, if that wasn’t Phearson’s obnoxious voice. I gave a dissatisfied grunt, but otherwise didn’t move. I didn’t care who my fucking cellie was, and I was no fucking welcome committee. I ignored the irritating sound of the automatic unlock could be heard announcing then the cell door to be opened. A guy was pushed in so hard he lost one of the things he’d been gripping, this being his pajama pants. That was about as far as I could see from behind the hem of my book; his legs and the piece of crap he dropped. The cell door was closed again and locked with an equally obnoxious sound as Phearson tapped his baton against the bars once more.  
“You’re the lucky one, Iero! I bet a lot of the others would’ve wanted a piece of his ass!”  
I kept myself from muttering profanities under my breath and went on reading, ignoring that talking waste of space. When Phearson noticed he wouldn’t get any reaction from me he grunted angrily, hissing “Or maybe it’ll be the other way round, Iero, and it’s gonna be you we’ll be seeing walking funny at lunch.” Resisting the urge to flip him off I merely yawned until he walked away. It wasn’t until a few minutes after that, that I realized there was still another person in the room. I decided to have a look at the man I’d be sharing my cell with and slowly leaned up, about to put my book away. 

The breath almost got stuck in my throat. 

The man who was currently standing in the middle of the cell, still clutching the rest of his belongings and staring at me through huge, terrified eyes was the same man that had snapped José Figueras’ arm in the middle of lunch hall four days ago. While I was staring at him I noticed that he was equally letting his eyes roam over my body, lingering on the sleeves of my tattoos. I usually don’t mind being stared at because I got nothing to hide, but somehow, his gaze felt scrutinizing. It felt like being put under a microscope, or being watched like a cat’s prey; which was funny considering he was the one looking scared to death.  
I decided to regain a little composure and put my book aside, slowly getting up from my bunk. As if on commando, he dropped the rest of his stuff to the floor and backed up against the brick wall behind him, frantic eyes never leaving my face.  
Jesus Christ, that kid was messed up. 

“For one”, I said, keeping my voice neutral, almost bored; “I wouldn’t throw my shit on the floor if I were you, it can’t get any nastier than the floors in this prison. Except for maybe the showers-“ (oh yeah, I’d convinced myself of that fact just this morning) “and two, I’m not gonna fucking eat you so stop acting like I’m Hannibal Lecter or something.”  
He cracked a nervous smile at that; finally easing up a little, even if that only meant he didn’t try dissipating through the wall anymore.  
“You can have top bunk”, I said, sitting back on my mattress. He hesitated for a second before quickly scraping up his shit and throwing it on his bunk. I inched back on the mattress until my back hit the wall and picked up my book again, but you just can’t fucking read when there’s _someone staring at you._  
Slowly growing pissed, I looked up to find him still standing there, looking a little lost.  
“ _What_?” I barked, because I really wasn’t in the mood for any shit. He started fiddling with his hands and averted his gaze, which allowed me to take a proper look at him.  
First – he wasn’t fucking tall. Maybe just a few inches taller than myself. Second – he was really fucking pretty, bordering on straight up beautiful. His features were both sharp and incredibly soft; rounded off with plump, rosy lips and ridiculously long eyelashes. Thinking about it he was reminding me of a hooker I once dealt to back in Newark that had me wondering how it could be that a guy was that pretty. Handsome yes; hell, I’m a got piece of ass myself; but that guy right in front of me – he had some kind of strangely feminine but at the same time rough, masculine beauty going on.  
Snapping out of my analysis I noticed I’d probably been staring like mad because he was blushing furiously, causing my own cheeks to heat up too.  
Fuck. 

“Uhm”, he cleared his throat. “You have a lot of tattoos.”  
“Huh”, I looked down at my arms, more surprised by him talking than his actual statement. “Yeah, I guess-“  
He moved so quickly I barely even noticed it; like a cat. He was at my bunk in an instant, one knee on the mattress already, hand reaching out stopping mere inches from the skin of my left arm and he was staring at the tattoos, or more precisely, one particular tattoo.  
“Our lady of sorrows”, he whispered, and I was too mesmerized by his face to notice what he said. He had his mouth opened just the tiniest bit, bottom lip shiny with spit and his eyes, his fucking eyes were huge – I could see for the first time what color they were; a deep hazel not unlike my own, but more likely to reflect light. His soft hair was falling into his face and his whole fascinated, child-like expression confronted me with the urge deep down in my gut to kiss him so hard I’d leave bruises. 

The moment was broken when he gasped “Can I touch?” the exact fucking moment his hand closed around my forearm with an unexpected force, and I remembered him breaking another man’s arm just days ago.  
“No!” I hissed and shoved him back with a harshness that sent him down on the floor and on his back, knocking the wind out of his lungs. As he lay there sputtering and gasping for air I already felt guilty, sighing briefly before sliding off my bunk to help him up. 

 

As soon as he saw my extended hand however, the dumb idiot scrambled away so hastily he hit his head on the foot of the small metal table that was perched in a narrow corner of the cell.  
“Holy f- what- jeez, I’m not going to hurt you, man!” I took my hand back, a little huffy. “I was just trying to help you up; I didn’t mean to shove you so hard. It’s just – personal space, man, you ever heard of it?”  
He tilted his head a little; rubbing at the sore spot before his pout turned into a rejected frown.  
“You’re scared of me”, he muttered. I thought I didn’t hear him right.  
“What?”  
“You’re scared”, he replied a little louder.  
“Yeah no I heard you well, asswipe! I’m just wondering what makes you think I’m fuckin’ scared of you!”  
He went up into a sitting position and hugged his knees to his chest.  
“You saw what I did to that guy…” he let his eyes roam through the cell and I caught myself ogling him again. Goddammit.  
“Yeah, so? You snapped an arm, congratulations!” I huffed sarcastically. “And even though I gotta admit you did it with style; it isn’t the first fucking arm that’s been snapped in prison, believe me.” That must’ve caught his attention, because he turned back to watching me like a curious kitten.  
“So you’re not scared of me?” he asked warily. He was weirdly adorable; so eager. I snorted and turned my head away, sitting back on the edge of my bunk.  
“Who could even be afraid of your pansy ass? Have you looked into a mirror lately?” I meant it playfully, but his expression promptly turned sour.  
“Why the fuck is everyone asking me that all of a sudden? What the hell is wrong with my face?”

Nothing, I thought. Except that it’s too cute to be intimidating, no matter how hard you try. Apparently though, he was expecting an answer. And when I didn’t give one, he shot up to his feet and again, moved almost too abrupt for me to notice. He was towering over me before I could even blink twice; straddling my legs and crushing his weight onto my lap. Only then I noticed that both his hands were fisted into the collar of my shirt, tugging at the fabric and his expression was – well, fuckin’ manic. 

“What the-“, I sputtered, trying to wiggle free from his iron grip, but to no avail.  
“What the fuck is _wrong_ with my face?” he all but screamed. “TELL ME!”  
When his chokehold tightened too much and I began to gulp for air, I thought fuck it. That dude hovering above me _was_ a fucking nutcase and if I didn’t stop him, he’d probably kill me. So I acted and landed a clean, square punch on his jaw that sent his head snapping to the side; causing him to let go immediately. I wasted no time shoving him off, jumping off my bunk while he curled up tightly into a ball, clutching his jaw and trembling. That little bitch. I was starting to get really fucking angry.  
“Stop fucking around, you fucking freak!” I spat croakily. Fuck, he’d choked me worse than I thought. “Get off my bunk!”  
He didn’t move. When I reached over to touch him he flinched away so violently as if I had just singed his skin. I knew there was probably more to his behavior than I was seeing right then but I was done giving a rat’s ass.  
I touched him again, shoving him a little. 

“Get the fuck out of my bunk or I’ll make you!” At that he finally quietly unfolded himself and got up, his heavy dark bangs hiding his face from view. I wanted to say something to disarm the situation, but my mind was wiped blank. The guy kept his head low as he all but crept past me and up his bunk. I sighed in defeat and massaged my aching temples before flopping down on my own bunk again, picking up Frankenstein.  
I read in an awkward silence then, trying to focus on the noise from the other inmates outside and the words written on my pages rather than the small, muffled sounds of him crying into his pillow right above me.  
Jesus. And I still didn’t even know his name. 

 

A couple of hours later, around one; came the usual announcement of lunchtime through speakers and the cell doors were opened. I found my stomach growling pretty badly so I was looking forward to getting something to munch. Also, I was glad as fuck to be able to get out of my cell.  
I was about to leave when I noticed that he hadn’t moved an inch from his curled up position. All that was visible of him was a pile of blankets and that stupid, wild mop of dark hair.  
“Hey you”, I poked the mattress, causing him to stir. I deliberately ignored everything that had happened between us a couple of hours ago, clearing my throat awkwardly. “It’s lunchtime.”  
“I’m not hungry”, came the muffled reply. Stupid moron. He should’ve known they always make you go to lunch, whether you end up eating or not. Deciding to stick to my whole ‘that freak is none of my fuckin’ business’-deal however, I merely shrugged.  
“Your loss.” After a heartbeat, I added “By the way – I’m Frank.”  
I waited for him to say his name, or at least turn around and show any kind of reaction, but nothing came. _Well, fuck you too, dumb bitch!_  
I flipped the blanket pile off and went to get the hell out of there before I’d have given into temptation and probably kicked him in the face.  
God, I really needed to work on my anger issues. 

 

Lunch was pretty unspectacular that day. It was pizza day, and the pizza actually wasn’t even half bad. I really didn’t get why everyone was always bitching about prison food when it wasn’t even that crappy. Come to think of it, the food behind bars was better than some of the shit they served in diners in Newark. It wasn’t even that annoying to sit with the mafia anymore, because they all turned out to be quite entertaining, switchblade swinging, drug dealing gossip girls. We had a quick game of poker after lunch – I won – so I was now walking back to my cell with three cigarettes stuffed into my back pocket, looking forward to an extended smoke break that afternoon.  
I was just contemplating finishing off Frankenstein ‘til ‘Free Time’ started and then check out the prison library to see what other books they had for me to read when I stepped into the cell. Had I still been eating, I would’ve fucking choked on the bite, because the sight I was greeted with upon entering brought immediate rage bubbling up in my gut.  
Rage mixed with…something else. 

While the pile of blankets still lay on top bunk; its content was sprawled out on _my fucking bunk_ , ink black hair fanned out on the mattress and it was fucking cuddling my pillow, hugging it tightly to its chest while making soft, snoring sounds.  
That guy was more than fifty fucking shades of messed up. 

So obviously they do let you stay in when you don’t wanna eat, I thought, taking a deep breath and yelling “What the actual fuck?” harsh enough for him to jerk awake, blinking around wildly in confusion. I took my chance to step closer, paying little attention to the automatic sound of the cell door being closed and locked behind me. It took him a few moments to actually wake up and rub the sleep from his eyes; leaving him with a pretty cherry flush on his pillow-wrinkled cheeks.  
“What the fuck are you doing in my bed you fucking freak?” I hissed with as much venom as I could muster, for the moment resisting the urge to paint his pretty face with blood.  
“Frank”, he said softly, sitting on my fucking bed like he owned it, still clutching my pillow tightly.  
“If you’re not gone in two seconds or less I _will_ wipe that grin right off your stupid face!” I growled and watched him pulling his lips into a sulky pout, mumbling ever so quietly “but it smelled of _you._ ”

I froze mid-action, staring at him with a thick layer of ‘what the fuck’ all over my face. That cunt made me angry beyond return, but what stirred my rage even more was the fact that I was hopelessly turned on. In fact I was so hot I could barely think straight, which made me want to bash his face even more. Seriously, the guy had an aura that made one want to do the filthiest things to him, I swear to god.  
He watched me without blinking, licking his lips and drawing my attention to the spot on his jaw where I hit him earlier and a delicate bruise was already blooming on pale skin.  
“You can try to hit me again”, he purred, low and somewhat wickedly; his voice alone almost sending me over the edge. “-but it will remain an attempt. Frankie…” he rolled my name, trying to see if it fit his tongue.  
I let out a low breath and briefly closed my eyes to pull up my guard again. Finally opening my eyes to face him again, I huffed “You are fucking weird, -“  
“Gerard.” He finished off my sentence. “Gerard Way.” And while he pierced my eyes with his gaze, flashing just the tiniest smile he added; “I’m the weirdest. I come from the nuthouse, remember?”  
My own lips were parting into a wide grin before I could even stop myself. 

Oh yeah, this was gonna be _so very interesting._


	4. Sing Sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember when I said this fic probably won't exceed 15k words? Well, rumor has it I'm full of shit, so - Happy Halloween to all of you who like this story and are happy that I'm a soppy anarchistic idiot who don't even stick to her own schedules. :D

I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because I was lonely, maybe because the last time I did it felt like it’s been ages ago and I wasn’t even sure if I remembered how it felt; maybe because he was attractive. I don’t know. It’s just, when you’ve been in this place as long as I have; things are starting to lose their meaning. You just do some things, and you don’t do other things and looking at the big picture none of it really matters. Because none of it really changes anything. You’re still just there.   
So I’m gonna blame it on my labeled-on insanity – hell, I wasn’t the one who called me crazy, they did. And if they expected crazy, I would give them crazy, simple as that. Trust me, I’d be in this hellhole for a lot, lot longer to give a fuck – except someone killed me first of course. 

Because let’s face it, things hadn’t been going all too well for me. I had been in psych. And even though I really didn’t enjoy all that time being restrained in solitary because I may ‘hurt myself or someone else’; psych had been somewhat of a safe haven. I liked to spend most of my day in the common room sketching; watching the others in our small little loony bin crawling around each other without purpose or haste. I found it calming. But it’s been taken from me, and they shoved me in together with all the normal cons, which was a hundred times worse. Because clearly, you can find the worst kinds of crazy there too, only no one is floating off to Candyland doped up on meds.   
And I attacked one of them. To be fair, he attacked me first, but I broke his arm. Which was probably a bad idea, but I just couldn’t stand that fat pig putting his dirty hands on me, so I was kinda forced to do something; and now I probably had a reward on my head.   
I’d been consistently avoiding both the showers and meal times for the last four days, having Frank snatch me a bite to eat a couple of times. As for the showering – I’d cleaned myself as good as it would get in the small shitty prison sink in our cell, but I knew I _had_ to shower eventually. I mean I’d never been much of a fan of showering – you never get the temperature right but somehow always manage to pour shampoo into your goddamn eye – but I was starting to feel really dirty; aching for that cold stream of water washing a bit of the grime of regular prison down the drain and away from me.   
So I decided I would go have a shower the very next morning. Which would then probably be my last shower ever; since one of those fuckers was probably going to stab me in the back with a shiv the second I set foot in the showers.   
So why not have a little fun in my last night?

Maybe that’s what drove me to it, I don’t know. I just know I woke up in the middle of the night with a phantom itch on my skin and so I just hopped off my bunk, crouching down next to his head, next to Frank’s head, to see if he was awake. He wasn’t, and I found myself watching him sleeping for a couple of minutes.  
Before anyone now goes out and calls me even more of a freak than I’d already been called – I’m no creep. Or stalker, or anything like that shit. Hell, that stuff freaks me out as well; but there was something about my cellmate, about Frank, that I just couldn’t put my finger on. He seemed so damn familiar. I felt like I knew him from somewhere but couldn’t remember where, and it made my head swim.   
And then I saw his tattoo. Our Lady of Sorrows. The memory still burnt my skin. 

Watching him, I found he looked angry in his sleep, strained, exhausted; his brows furrowed tightly. He looked like he needed some kind of relief, so without thinking much about it I crawled ontop of him, carefully not dropping my weight so he wouldn’t wake up; nudge his legs apart so I could fit in between, and then slowly pull down his sweatpants. He stirred a little, but otherwise didn’t move. My heart was pounding against my chest and my face felt painfully hot; but my mind hadn’t been that calm and focused in a really long time.   
I swallowed briefly; breathing in his scent – I had no idea how he managed to smell of more than overall prison filth, cheap soap and dry towels in a place like this, but he actually smelled good. Then I closed my eyes and just went down; holding him in place by the swallows on his hips and it was intense, so fucking intense; even better than the last high I could remember.   
He woke up with a shudder the very second he came. 

 

\--

 

I was barely asleep when I felt weight leaning on my legs which confused me, so I tried to roll over but couldn’t, which confused me even more. Someone was pinning me down. And while I slowly slipped into that state where you’re barely awake but aren’t sleeping anymore either; it started to feel good. It started to feel so fucking good and I wondered if that came from the very vivid dream I just had about getting my dick sucked by Scarlett Johansson, and I felt a lazy grin spread over my face. Jeez, that would mean a giant morning wood I’d have to somehow jack off without the freak noticing – or hell, let him notice, I don’t give a fuck. If he’s into that kind of sh- I stopped thinking right there because a moan escaped my lips, pretty fucking loud as well, and I suddenly wasn’t that convinced I was dreaming anymore. Especially since I could _hear_ the immediate response I got from outside. 

“Hell yeah, someone’s gettin’ it tonight!”  
“Bite a pillow you cunt, ain’t nobody gotta hear your whining!”

I was confused. It was a fucking dream and Jesus, I’d never before talked aloud in my sleep, let alone – ugh. But it still felt so fucking real, like I could not only picture her lips stretched around my dick, I could _feel_ them; hot and moist and fuckin’ – it was driving me crazy. So I finally pushed myself to open my eyes to figure out what the hell was going on – just in time to see him, looming over me, hair hanging into his face and eyes burning, watching me like a hawk for a split second; a line of spit going from his parted lips to – my fucking cock.   
And then I had to squeeze my eyes shut because he was sinking down again, swallowing me as far as he could without choking, and with a few last swirls of his tongue I came so hard I hadn’t in a long time, with my hands fisted into the sheets and my teeth sunk into my bottom lip to the point I was drawing blood. He didn’t swallow, but he didn’t really pull away either; staying there with my come dripping off his chin and lips, his face illuminated by a faint neon light from outside; making him look more obscene than any porn I’d ever seen.  
I propped myself up on my elbows, still panting lightly, trying to block out the number of catcalls sounding over from outside; staring at his face in the darkness. He showed no intention whatsoever of moving or cleaning himself off. 

Only then I realized what he was playing was a game of power. Well, I could play that too, my friend.  
I quickly tucked myself away again and leaned forward so fast I caught even him by surprise, pushing him back down on the mattress with my whole weight; resulting in awkwardly bending him in half due to his former crouching position. I felt the jut of his hipbones poke into my stomach as I fisted a hand into his filthy hair and pulled back, exposing his throat and biting down hard enough to make it bruise for days. He let out a half-choked, high-pitched whine, and I could feel against my thigh how turned on he was. I knew the position must have been more than uncomfortable for him but this _was_ a game of power and besides, he didn’t even try to get away or push me off, he just squirmed a little, gasping and fixing his eyes on me. Reaching into his sweatpants and producing a wrecked shudder the moment my hand came in contact with his almost feverish skin, I wondered how long it had been since someone touched him that way. It was filthy, but I kept looking at his face the whole time I jerked him off; savoring every ecstatic twist, watching him come undone until he was left a whimpering, panting mess on my bunk.   
Retrieving my hand I pushed up his shirt a little to wipe it on his stomach, muttering “This is your mess, you clean it up.”  
He was slowly coming down from his high, breath still going uneven; reaching for one of the scratchy towels that hung over the headboard of the bunkbed to clean himself up. 

Feeling like I couldn’t sit there for a second longer I got up and stepped up to the small, barred, high up window in the corner of our cell, silently cursing myself for being too short to properly reach it. That way the only thing I could see from my position was a splotch of tar black night sky and the shimmer of the obnoxiously bright floodlights down in the yard. 

God, I was itching for a smoke.   
I hadn’t even properly processed what the fuck just happened. I was in prison. Maximum security, for a little over a week now; I’d met my cellmate, Gerard Way, who was a certified nutjob with weird Krav Maga skills and the face of a pretty teenage girl, and said cellmate had just very successfully sucked me off.   
Gerard Way. What a strange name. Then again it suited him somehow, since he was a whole bunch of strange enrolled into one with a ribbon on top.   
But I didn’t really mind him sucking me off. See, I’m not gay, but I’m not straight either. Sex isn’t one of the things I considered conjoined with my goal. I mean don’t get me wrong here; sex is amazing when it’s done right, and even when it’s not it bears something special and enticing, but to me it was never really more than an outlet for my aggressions other than to wreck something. It was a way to get myself off when I needed it; and when it came to I didn’t give a fuck whether it was a woman or a man writhing beneath me as long as we managed to blow each other’s minds and then split apart, no strings attached. 

So it really didn’t concern me that much that a guy had just sucked me off; this was prison after all. You take what you get.   
The only thing that was a little unnerving was the fact he literally assaulted me in my sleep. I still knew little more about him than his fucking name, and the last thing I needed was that freak to maybe get the ridiculous idea he somehow made _me his_ bitch – I couldn’t have that.   
I sighed deeply and stepped away from the window; turning back to face him. 

What I had not been prepared for was to find him crying, watching me silently as the tears ran down his cheeks at an agonizingly slow path.   
“Why are you bawling your eyes out?” I disrupted the awkward silence after a few more heartbeats.   
“I’m not.” I rolled my eyes and flopped down on the mattress beside him, leaning back against the wall, watching the underside of his mattress above my head.   
“’Course you’re not. You probably just got something in your eye.” He sucked in a shuddery breath and inched a little farther away.   
“Was it really that bad for you?” I teased, reaching over to retrieve a piece of gum – since we weren’t allowed to smoke inside the cells I had to find something to occupy myself with.  
When he gave no answer I felt the urge to taunt him even further growing inside my guts. I don’t know what it was about him that made me want to push him to the edge, and maybe even over it.   
Probably his face, his fucking weird, pretty face that made you want to see it warped into every single freaking emotion known to man; it made you ache to see it twisted with pain, pleasure, rage, envy – but it also made you want to shower him with kisses and caresses just to earn an earnest smile, a broad grin or a flustered blush on his cheeks. There was something about that kid that was just drawing you in and you couldn’t do anything about it. 

 

But right now, he was pissing me off.   
“Was I really that bad? Did I remind you of your Daddy when he touched you in your sleep?” I sneered and he jerked around instantly, eyes blazing.   
“What-?” he hissed, and I knew I had him.  
“Did your Daddy crawl into your bed when you were a kid and touch you? Did he fuck you every night?” I taunted. “Maybe that’s why you grew up to be just like him, raping people in their sl-“ – I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before he knocked me to the floor. Groaning; I tried to roll over but he was on me in the blink of an eye; twisting my left arm behind my back which had me hissing in pain.   
I knew we’d been too loud a second after. 

“Fucking shut up you bitches! Some of us are tryin’ to get some sleep!”  
“Boss, can you fuckin’ stuff those faggots’ cakeholes; I’m fuckin’ sick of being woken up every few goddamn minutes!”

Gerard however seemed not to care, setting a knee on my back; pulling my arm up and forcing me even further into that degrading position. The only reason I was letting him get through with manhandling me like that was because I knew I’d gone too far.   
“You”, Gerard spat through gritted teeth, “are a fucking asshole.”  
. If his grip hadn’t been hurting that much, I would have laughed at the whole situation; but then there was Healy banging against the bars, barking “Iero! Way! Quit fucking around or you get shipped off to solitary faster than you can scratch your sorry asses!” and with that Gerard was off me immediately. I took a deep breath and got back up, silently thanking heaven that it was only Healy and not Phearson; I really couldn’t have done with his ugly mug right then. 

After Healy walked off it didn’t take long for quiet to settle back in block C. Or, what you could call ‘quiet’ in prison; a highly irritating mixture of obnoxious snoring, hushed talking and the faint sounds of someone jerking off a few cells from ours. Disgusting.   
And they were complaining about us? Jesus, what a rotten piece of hell. 

I sat back on my mattress, more than a little surprised that Gerard flopped down next to me.   
“Frank Iero”, he said dismissively. “You really are an asshole.” I huffed a little, but otherwise kept my mouth shut. “I know you didn’t mean what you said before, you were just trying to push me over the line.” I raised my eyebrows, watching out of the corner of my eyes that he narrowed his down to slits; “I warn you though, Frank – never talk to me about that again.”  
He was now facing me directly, eyes burning into the pits of my damn soul.   
“Did it happen to you?” I whispered, because I’m an idiot, and because I couldn’t help myself. For a split second he looked like he was going to rip my throat out, but then he settled on a sad smile.   
“No”, he muttered softly, inching closer and resting his head in the crook of my neck. I flinched only a little at the unexpected contact. “Not to me…at least. I-I have a little brother though. He wasn’t that lucky. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

I nodded slowly, staring into the darkness of the cell. My hand reached up as if controlled by someone else; raking through his thick, ink black hair.   
“I hope you slit that bastard’s worthless throat.” It came out a little harsher than intended, which angered me a bit. I had no interest in sharing stories of past abuse to bond over. I never told anyone about my step-dad and I intended for it to stay like that.  
Gerard merely let out a small, raspy giggle before burying his face in my chest, breathing in my scent. I know it sounds damn fucked up, but the painful truth is, it felt good. Having him pressed up next to me, just hearing him breathing calmly made me realize how I craved human touch. My span of social contact had been narrowed down to deals, negotiations with my suppliers and occasional, quick fucks. No wonder my aggression was starting to get worse. I needed something to calm myself down so badly, and I figured Gerard would suffice. Even though he was dangerous, and weird, and oddly clingy. 

He broke my train of thought after a while.  
“I’m scared.” I stopped grazing my fingers over the skin on his shoulder through his shirt for a second and looked down on the head of wild, black hair resting on my chest.   
“Would be stupid if you weren’t.”

To that he smiled. I couldn’t see him, but I felt it against my chest, his lips parting into a tiny smile.  
“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m about to piss my pants, though.” He placed a hand above my heart and listened for the beat. “I don’t wanna die like that, Frankie. Throat slit open and blood running down into the shower drain.” He paused, and I wondered if he was waiting for me to say something. I didn’t know what to say though; there was no way to console Gerard. He knew he had pissed the Hispanics off, but he didn’t belong to any gang that could have protected him. He knew I couldn’t protect him, because they’d just kill me too. He also knew that he would have to face them eventually, because he’d pretty much used up his loony bonus with keeping away from the showers and meals for four days straight. And I knew the Hispanics were heated up for some kind of revenge, I overheard them talking just the day before during ‘Free Time’.   
“Hell Gerard, no one wants to die like that. That said, I don’t think you’re actually gonna die. They’re not gonna kill you over that. Maybe break a few bones, but that’s it.” I knew he wouldn’t buy it, but what else could I have said?  
I heard him chuckle softly though, the sound vibrating against my pelvis. 

“You’re weird, Frank.” he muttered.   
“-says the loony.” I yawned, stretching my limbs. “I think you should fuck off to your own bunk now though; I wanna get some sleep before the pigs chase us around again.” With that I nudged him a little, but he merely sighed contently and pulled me down into a lying position; his head still rested on my chest, entangling our legs together. I fucking don’t know why I allowed that. Normally I would have kicked him in the guts so hard he would’ve thrown up by now; but somehow I found nothing of my usual rage inside me.   
It actually was a nice feeling for a change, not wanting to bash anyone’s skull in. 

With Gerard’s body warmth and steady breathing I got lulled into sleep a lot quicker than I would have liked. It felt like the exhaustion of a century was pulling me down with a force that made it impossible for me to even lift my right arm from beneath Gerard’s head, even though it was starting to feel fucking numb. I wasn’t even sure if I was dreaming already or Gerard really had started crying again, wetting the collar of my shirt with his tears.   
Well I won’t be your headshrinker, buddy, you gotta look out for yourself. Frank Iero has been fucked over one time too many; I’m done with making other people’s problems my own. 

Which didn’t mean I couldn’t provide him at least with some physical comfort though; so following a sheer impulse, I leaned over and pressed a small kiss on top of his head, the little confused sigh I got in return being the last thing I remembered before drifting off.


	5. South Woods

I woke the second my ass hit the cold, grimy cell floor. Groaning sleepily, I fumbled for the sore spot at the back of my head, gingerly touching it through layers of my hair before wincing at the immediate pain surging through my skull. I was confused. I knew I couldn’t have fallen from my bunkbead, because if I did, I’d hurt a lot more. A _lot_ lot more. I blinked into the fading darkness a little, wondering how late it was. That was the thing about prison, you kind of lost track of the time, and watches or alarm clocks were prized possessions not many were lucky enough to call their own.   
You could trade a whole bunch of cigarettes for a wristwatch, for example. A not-all-that-crappy shiv. Or lots of sexual favors. Which yes of course, is a thing in here; only you seldomly witness it on psych, because like I said, most of us are too doped up on meds to think about anything like that. Or rather, to think about anything at all.   
I used to hang out with some guy for a while, a couple of months ago. Okay right here, I might have to clarify how you could define hanging out with a con that’s doomed to a lifetime in psych, because when we’re on meds, there’s not much to do with us. I had been there for a year and a half, enough time to get myself accomplished to the rules around here. Figure out how things worked; get ‘street-smart’ as you could say. I learned which COs to approach if I wanted something, which favors they would expect in return and how far I could go with making demands. I had learned exactly how you could trick the nurses (don’t let yourself get fooled; here we get no women, they are all men, but I call them nurses anyway. Most of them hate it, but it’s their fucking job. I for one think they should man up and stop acting all pissed when someone addresses them by a term mostly associated with a woman’s trade. But who am I to have opinions on anything, right?) into thinking you very well swallowed all the meds they gave you like a good boy; how to shove them back to the edge of your throat with your tongue and keep them there until you later spit them into the damp soil of the large rubber plant in the main hallway. Well, you kinda have to train your gag reflex for that stunt, but I never had problems with that. The only meds I continued to take were my anti-depressants, but just because I was kinda fucking terrified what would happen if I stopped swallowing them.   
And then well, they brought this guy in and no one knew what exactly he was in for, we just heard that Goldie, an old, African-American woman and the only female nurse we had on the tract burst into tears when she heard about his crime and refused to treat him.  
She kept her word. Not once did she touch him in the eight months he’s been here.

But he was new, and he was kind of an enigma wrapped in a riddle so naturally, I was interested in him. When I first approached him they had shot him up with tranquilizers and left him on the ratty old couch in the common room; close to drooling onto the collar of the obnoxiously white standard issue loony bin shirt they force us all to wear. He didn’t once acknowledge my presence as I stepped closer, just continuing to stare into nowhere with a clouded, unfocused gaze up to the point I almost left in disappointment. But then I did a double take. I sneaked past the small coffee table and dropped down on the couch next to him; _purposely_ touching his thigh with mine. That’s what got me his attention. Slowly, as if he were stricken with the pain of a haunting thought, he turned his head towards me and suddenly the cloudy haze in his eyes faded just a little, revealing a piercing blue that even though sedated, seemed to penetrate my very fucking soul. Then he smiled, just the hint of a smile, but it had kind of a mischievous notion to it I had never seen before. And for a moment I had forgotten every snarky remark I had planned to make and felt humble, and pretty dumb.  
He tried to say something then but it only came out as a croaky coughing sound which didn’t sound all too healthy, but I was still too dumbfounded to say anything. See, that is why even though I’d been there much longer than he had, he owned me within a second. I get distracted too easily. Everyone’s always been saying that, especially Mikey.   
Finally, he managed to grit out something that vaguely resembled “Cat gotcha tongue?” and to that I obviously must have made a weird face because he actually laughed, a slow, weird, raspy kind of laugh, but it tired him and I could see his gaze losing focus again.   
“I’m Gerard”, I finally said, because for the first time in months I had met someone interesting, and I wouldn’t let that go.   
“That’s what I thought”, he smiled right before the meds took over and he drifted off, head falling into my lap. I still don’t know what he meant by that.

It turned out his name was Bert, but I never learned his full name and I had no intention to. I never called him by his name. We rarely spoke, even though we spent a lot of time together. I showed him how to avoid the meds he decided he didn’t want to take in exchange of him telling me his story, but he never did. And so I didn’t, too.   
When he first fucked me, the only words he sighed into my hair before he bit down on the nape of my neck so hard it left me with a scar was “I knew it would feel like that.” We built our own little world inside this shithole, a hideout where only he and I had access to, something no one could take from us. One time I was resting my head on his stomach he said he was looking for his kind of infinity, and he was trying to find out if I was it. I didn’t know what he meant though, so I never asked him about it and he never brought it up again.   
It took some time for me to realize that maybe I shouldn’t have showed him how to avoid his pills, even if that meant he would have stayed in that delirious haze and I’d never gotten to know him. At first, when he got more brutal with me I dismissed it easily. The times we fucked were the times I felt most alive, and I didn’t want to give up on that. Also, I didn’t mind being handled a little roughly – but after some time, sex with him became painful. He became ruthless and cold, pushing me away afterwards like I was something low and disgusting and it hurt. It hurt a lot. But since we hardly talked I didn’t address the matter, I just began to withdraw from him.   
And much to my surprise, he let me. He didn’t chase after me one single time, and I’m still torn whether to be hurt or relieved about it. After that it wasn’t long until he just lost it; cutting himself out of my life. I found out one morning when Stanley brought me my food like usual, seeming rather jittery.   
I knew exactly how to push Stanley’s buttons so it didn’t take me long to get him to talk. That morning they had found Bert in his cell; sitting on the corpse of a dead officer whose throat he had sliced open with a clipped razor, smearing two of his fingers in large circles over the floor, dripping with his victim’s blood. Stanley told me what he was drawing but said he didn’t know what it meant, but I knew all too well. He drew a horizontal eight. So he must have finally gotten _his infinity_ in the end, and it wasn’t me. Stanley said a few other things as well, like how glad he was that the ‘monster’ hadn’t hurt me, etc, etc. Stanley knew we’d been fucking, and he didn’t like it one bit. But he also didn’t talk, because it was prison law, and he respected that.   
But all that didn’t matter to me anymore. I just had one question burning on the tip of my tongue, and I couldn’t even bring myself to ask it. Stanley finally redeemed me; shaking his head sadly and mumbling: “They transferred him into high security for now. They have yet to decide whether or not to transfer him to another facility completely.”

After they took him away, I felt numb for a long time. They transferred Bert someplace I’d never heard of and I never even got to see him again. I looked deep inside myself to see how I felt about it, but the sadness I wanted to feel so badly never showed itself. I _wanted_ to feel sad over the loss of the one person I had managed to build up some kind of connection with during my time here, but I just couldn’t. I merely felt a little more dead inside than I had before, but that was all. So I decided to ban him from my mind permanently, to ignore the gaping void inside my guts and it worked so well.  
Until now.  
Until I met someone and got close to them again and everything came down upon me once more. And now Frank had pushed me away just like Bert had and it felt like Carolina all over again. It hurt. It hurt bad to always get treated like trash, especially when you didn’t know the fuck why.  
I don’t know why the people in my life sooner or later always developed the urge to push me down in one way or another, except for maybe one person, that being Mikey. Fighting the urge to curl in on myself I turned and looked up to see Frank in the dim dawning light that was falling in between the spaces of the barred window, staring right at me. He wasn’t sleeping anymore; he was sitting up straight in his bunk and just staring at me. He was the one who pushed me outside. A shudder raged through my skin, causing me to wrap my arms tightly around my middle.   
I was so confused. Why did he do it? With Bert I had missed the signs when he got distant, but with Frank – there weren’t even any signs to miss. I hadn’t even known him for that long. What was it about me that made me so repulsive?   
I hated that I could almost feel a mood swing approaching, making me tear up. I wanted to be angry; to lash out and attack, to tell him I was no fucking rag doll for him to push around, because that’s always better than being defenseless and weak, but the words just wouldn’t come out. Finally, he spoke up, turning away. As if I wasn’t even good enough for him to look at.   
“This has to end.” His words were harsh, and I felt a lump form in my throat. Waves of shame were rushing through my body and I wasn’t even entirely sure why.  
“What?” I finally managed to grit out.   
“I think you heard me.” His voice was cold, distant. “I can’t fucking erase what happened, but it’s not gonna happen again, you hear me? I’m going to do my time and stay away from all the disgusting scum in here, including you. Especially you”, he said, turning back to face me directly, as if he wanted to show just who he meant by ‘scum’.  
I swallowed down the numbing, devouring feeling that was tightening my throat and got up from the floor slowly, dusting myself off. 

I watched Frank for a while, every handsome feature of his face twisted up in anger. Then I let out a low laugh and shrugged. This really _was_ Carolina all over again. The cryptic signs, the fucking not-talking when a few words could have shed light on so many things – it was ridiculous. It made me want to laugh.   
“Well, maybe that’s for the best for now”, I said bitterly, taking a step closer. “Maybe you should figure out what the hell you fucking want first.”   
He tilted his head a little and narrowed his eyes.  
“What are you trying to say, Gerard, huh?” he said, sounding like the calm before a storm. That was when I first and fully realized that Frank was as fucked up as I was, and that the only difference between him and me was the fact that they had tried to calm me down with a Molotov cocktail of therapy and medication; whereas no one ever tried to get to the bottom of Frank’s issues let alone even acknowledge them.   
At that point I wasn’t sure if he was going to hit me again but I took the risk. Frankly, I didn’t care much.   
“I think I hit home there, haven’t I?” I asked, and that little twitch at the corner of Frank’s mouth didn’t go unnoticed. “Yeah, I think I have. You are a scared little boy who is afraid of making decisions. You are so terrified of the possibility that just one wrong decision could clip the wings of your precious ‘freedom’ – which is a lie itself – that you just don’t do it. You don’t make decisions. You leave them to someone else, or simply wait until something happens. You don’t make choices; you don’t get close to anyone. Even if you decide you don’t want something in your life anymore, you wait for something to happen to get rid of it. That’s why you probably live in some shitty one-room apartment and sleep there on a mattress on the floor; not because you can’t afford a bed, but because you hate the mere thought of going out and picking one so much it actually chains you to the ground.” I don’t know what it was that kept me going when Frank was looking at me like he was about to latch his fingers around my throat and squeeze the life out of my lungs, but I couldn’t help it. I took one more step forward.   
“Now here you are. And you are looking down on me because I’m the crazy one. Because at least, you haven’t sunken as low as I have, right? At least you’re in with the normal convicts, the ones that murder for money or rape merely down to their own whim; whereas I – I’m the freaking nutjob, right? I got stuffed in with the _insane_ ones. The _real_ monsters. No one is ever gonna take me for serious again, ain’t that so? And you still don’t even know what’s wrong with me, do you? That’s why you watched me so intensely for the last few days, because you wanted to figure out if I was a threat. If I was dangerous. Why exactly they had to lock me away in a padded cell. Am I right, Frank? You were trying to find out which of the few textbook mental cases you know I am, like the pretentious asshole you are. You look down on me Frank, to avoid having to look down on yourself. ”  
He snorted and leaned back on his bunk.  
“You sure like to hear yourself talking, don’t you, Gerard?” he said, closing his eyes and pulling his lips into a cold smile. “I bet they stuffed you in solitary so often for so long you started talking to yourself just to hear the sound of a voice. You are deprived of human contact, I get that. But you act about it in the most pathetic way possible. How much longer do you have in here, huh? Five years? Ten? What will happen when you get out? You will be old. You will be alone. You will be desperate because you wasted your life in here. You will probably off yourself. Heck, I would if I were you; but thankfully I’m not. I’m gonna get out in 18 months; 14 on good behavior. Whereas you”, he leaned forward again, eyes piercing right through my soul; “will rot here. You will rot here Gerard Way, and there’s nothing that you can do about it, no matter how hard you try. You are weak, and the weak get devoured, that’s how it is. So do yourself a favor and don’t think I’m gonna be the shoulder you can lean on, ‘cause I won’t. You’re on your own in here, just like everybody else.”

I was on the verge of tears by the time he was finished but I’d turned around so he wouldn’t see it. I wouldn’t let him have the benefit of seeing me cry. I tried to steady my voice and then, after a few heartbeats, spoke up quietly enough for only Frank to hear. “You might be too fucking full of yourself to see it, but you’re weak too, Frank. Only you maybe only realize it when it’s too late.”   
I turned around to face him again but the second he opened his mouth to retort something, the scene got torn apart by the deafening sound of wake up call. 

 

\--

After that we didn’t talk for days. It’s not easy to avoid someone you’re forced to share a cell and are locked up with almost 24/7, but we managed it surprisingly well. In a way we were behaving like dumb teenagers after a stupid fight, but neither he nor I cared about it. I spent the better half of the free time I had collecting random stuff I found interesting and staying out of the Hispanics’ way. I found it strange enough that it had been so long without anything happening to me, so I basically slept with one eye open.   
I mean I didn’t cower; I had already shown them that I was capable of defending myself, but I really wasn’t keen on provoking anything. Frank was reading Frankenstein again, or better, violating it. Because I had honestly never in my life seen someone turn the page of a book with the amount of badly concealed aggression Frank was showing.   
The only time we were together outside the time we spent restricted to our cells was during lunch, and even then he only sat at my table because it was the only one practically empty apart from me.   
So yeah, he didn’t sit with the Mafia anymore and yeah, they were starting to get pretty fucking pissed about it. I could see it in her eyes. They obviously had counted him as one of theirs and now he wasn’t behaving like a good little goon, which especially their leader didn’t seem to like one bit.   
He was staring at Frank almost constantly during lunchtime, but Frank never seemed to notice. Or maybe, he just didn’t give a fuck. I was tempted to tell Frank that it wasn’t a good idea to so blatantly ignore what looked like one of the most dangerous men in this prison, but he wouldn’t have listened to me anyway, so I kept my mouth shut. Another day I spotted Frank in the yard smoking, while I was sitting cross-legged on the frozen ground by myself, longing for a smoke; contemplating just breaking the silence between us and bumming one from him when I saw them walking up to him. Their leader wasn’t with them as far as I could see, and I was out of earshot, so I didn’t hear a thing they were talking. I just watched Frank, and how his elegant eyebrows rose with a mixture of question and disgust once before he slowly shook his head, and dropped the stump of his cigarette to the floor. He then stomped on it with the tip of his heel, uttered something very dismissively and then walked past them just like that, leaving them behind like the clueless pair of morons they were.   
I don’t know why, but I felt strangely proud of him, even though I knew that Frank’s don’t-give-a-shit attitude would probably be the exact thing that killed him in the end. 

And as it looked, the end was arriving sooner than I thought. It didn’t even take another day before they approached Frank again, this time during lunch. By the looks of their faces alone I knew that whatever they wanted from him, it wasn’t good news. And I didn’t know why, because technically, it didn’t even affect me, especially since the thing Frank and I had broke off before it even started, but when I saw the way Emilio was looking at him, my guts shriveled together in an unknown rage.   
I got the sudden and stupid urge to defend Frank, even though he was the one who pushed me away. But maybe that was how I was supposed to go down. Wouldn’t that just be _heroic_?  
Oh I would be _such a hero_.

I didn’t even waste a split second – once they reached our table; my body seemed to move on its own and I shot up to my feet in a heartbeat, balling my fists and glaring at the bastards through strands of my unruly hair; feeling ready to kill. When Emilio acknowledged my presence and locked eyes with me he first seemed surprised, just for a brief second, before his lips parted into a broad, vicious smile, which should have been terrifying, but it didn’t intimidate me at fucking all. 

The only thought circling my brain was _bring it on, cunt_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we get a little insight into Gerard's prison past. :D  
>  *phew*, I'm so sorry for the long break. *tumbleweed passes in the distance*  
> I have been massively busy with my own shitty condition, University and a bunch of awesome concerts I've been to lately, so I hardly found the time two write. - Which will now hopefully change, so please stick with me. :D
> 
>  
> 
> Also, to those of you who follow my other story, _"A drink for the horror that I'm in"_ , I HAVE NOT ABANDONED THIS STORY!!!!   
> I CANNOT emphasize on this enough guys; I'm just in the middle of a temporary hiatus from it because I have to plan the end out properly and don't want to mess it up! 
> 
> Okay, that's all for now! I love each and everyone of you who reads this, likes it, leaves me kudos or even a comment! You are the ones keeping me alive!! xo


	6. Stateville Correctional

Out of the corners of my eyes I could see that Gerard had shot up in his seat; watching Emilio with pursed lips and eyes narrowed down to slits. He kept his mouth shut but if looks could kill – Emilio DeLotta would by now probably be dangling from the ceiling, hung at the neck with his own intestines.  
Emilio had sat down at our table with an unreadable expression; watching me for a heartbeat before giving a brief nod, inducing for his handymen to sit down as well. I had to try hard not to burst out sighing – it was obvious that they hadn’t just come here for a nice chat; they never do. The few times I ran into the Mafia in the past had never been pleasant, so I tried to stay off the radar. It was, especially considering my wonderful step-father had direct connections into the higher ranks, a considerably neat achievement.  
Throwing a quick sideglance at Gerard, I picked my sandwich back up. I knew Emilio could see it as disrespectful to him if I kept on eating, but hell, if these suckers were in the right mood, you could downright bleed to fucking death next to them and it would be seen as disrespectful. That’s what the Mafia is about, that’s the ugly truth no one wants to hear. They don’t give a shit about people. To them you are numbers, bodies – not even names and faces. They count in the money you bring them or the money you lose them; and eventually they count in corpses, because that’s how sooner or later most of those who get involved with them end up; a body in a dumpster.  
So for the sake of maintaining fake politeness I motioned at my godforsaken cold chicken sandwich, asking: “You mind if I continue?”  
Emilio pulled his lips into a broad, shark-like grin and for the first time I got a hint on why he was the one in charge here. That man probably had more blood on his hands than a butcher and you could see right in his eyes that he didn’t even try to hide it. The way he acted like he was in total control of the situation; like we were all at his mercy, how his lips curled up slightly at the corners revealed how fucking amusing this all was to him; me not knowing what the fuck he wanted from me, Gerard eyeing him like an angry viper, the whole fucked up, dirty prison chaos around us. That guy probably didn’t even want out; he was perfectly happy here in his own little kingdom, where he had crowned himself king of the junkyard dogs.  
“’Course not”, Emilio smiled. “I even have something for ya”, he added and set a cup of pudding onto the table, sliding it over until it clicked against my tray. “Chocolate”, he remarked nonchalantly, that creepy smile of his still present on his oddly angular face. “Stonzo got them from the kitchen this morning”; he motioned at the buff, stern looking guy sitting next to him. Stonzo. Ah, I remembered that one from the poker table. 

No one at the table said another word while I was finishing my sandwich. Gerard was for some reason still standing; looming over that fucking batshit scene of ours while Emilio was purposefully not giving a single shit about his presence and his two goons were slouching around uselessly, but I really hadn’t expected any different from them. I dragged out the process of finishing my meal as long as possible without raising any suspicion; my thoughts racing my brain feverishly. I didn’t know exactly what it was Emilio wanted, but I had a few clues, and none of them promised a party. Considering the fact he had brought his bodyguards led even more to the conclusion that he set his value on my cooperation, meaning he was determined to get it, no matter how.  
What bothered me the most however was Gerard. I mean we hadn’t particularly left off at the best of terms. We were neither friends nor allies – and notorious prison law number one says never ever get invested in another inmate’s shit _unless_ a) you owe him; b) he’s family or c) you have an urgent deathwish. Given Gerard’s nature, or as much as I came to get of it so far I’d have happily bet the better half of my scrotum it was the latter.  
Un-fucking-fortunately every sandwich comes to an end, even the ones that are hardly edible. After I swallowed it down to the very last crumb I slowly pushed the tray away and leaned back in my seat. Lunch hall was by now almost empty apart from two or three other cons and one CO whose face I couldn’t see because he had his back turned towards us. I figured everyone probably was at the library by now, since it was ‘literature day’, which was part of prison Ed. It wasn’t particularly educational though, it just meant a monthly gathering in the heated and also for a prison surprisingly comfortable library and three hours on hand you could spend there on your own as long as you kept quiet and at least pretended to read. It was obligatory to take part in an activity, so it was either that or lounging around in the yard on a fucking freezing February afternoon – I let you take the wild guess where everyone would go.

It was slightly unnerving that there was only one fucking CO; I mean seriously, should things not go as planned, he could barely do anything to stop it. I turned back at Emilio, watching him questioningly.  
“So?” I asked, resisting the urge to cross my arms in front of my chest and raise my eyebrows. Instead I forced myself to hold his glare, because with people who interrogate, torture and kill people for the mere rush of it, you really don’t want to come across as all too cocky.  
Emilio however merely grinned; nodding in the direction of the untouched pudding still sitting next to my tray.  
“You not gonna eat that?” He was testing me. I felt that well-known nervous twitch in my left eye returning full force, but managed to crack a small smirk nonetheless.  
“I’m gonna save it for later”, I smiled ominously. “Always do with the good stuff.”  
To that Emilio actually leaned back and burst into a full blown, deep laughter.  
“Good answer Iero, I like that! You have quite the guts for a fish!” He paused and waited for a reaction but I kept my expression. “Even though you’re not among the chatty ones, that is. The guys have been telling me they missed you at the poker table, Frankie. I’m just gonna call you Frankie, bene? That’s what I thought! See Frankie, I thought we established somewhat of a friendship”, he tilted his head a little before turning towards Gerard, a disconcerting look on his face. “But I suppose you have found new – _friends_.” I followed his gaze and for the first time in days, allowed myself to take a proper look at Gerard. To be honest I wouldn’t have believed that someone with a face as soft as him could look menacing or dangerous at all, but I was proven wrong. Here he was standing, motionless except for the barely noticeable tremble in his fists, with an expression as sharp as a razorblade. I was surprised. And at the same time I felt a hint of unease crawling up my guts.  
“Gerard, sit down”, I muttered, beginning to grow embarrassed by his over protectiveness; trying to hide it and failing. Emilio had seen the slight shift in my expression and thus amusedly returned to facing Gerard again. Just as Gerard moved his arm he spoke up, his voice apathetic.  
“I wouldn’t bother to sit down if I were you, _Gerard_.” he sounded almost bored, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater. “Frankie and I have some business to discuss and I tend to do that in private”, he smirked, slightly shifting in his seat.  
I could swear I heard Gerard growling.  
“Eh this is nothing personal, amico, it’s just the way I do things.” He leaned back again. After a few heartbeats Gerard’s chapped lips cracked into a smile. It was a low sneer, with a voice dripping of honey and venom- “You have your bunkboys with you, so I hardly think this is private anyway.”  
It took me every ounce of self control not to fucking bolt up myself and step in front of Gerard the second I heard Stonzo’s plastic chair clatter onto the floor when he pushed it back. This was becoming more and more like a Mexican standoff except that Gerard and I wouldn’t really stand a chance if it broke loose. Fucking idiot!  
It was almost like he was _trying_ to get himself into trouble. And me.  
Stonzo flexed one of his fists, but it was the other one who said “Hey slut, watch your goddamn tongue!”- to which Gerard merely snorted. He was apparently not giving a single shit about his own health, but my initial admiration for him quickly faded. Now, _willfully_ picking a fight with the Mafia was just plain dumb. He could do that if he wanted, but hell no was I gonna let him drag me into it.  
“Seriously you fuckin’ piece of shit, unless you’re gonna get down on your knees and put it to better use I suggest you shut your mouth and piss the fuck off!”  
“Alright, that’s enough!” Emilio waved them off and Stonzo dropped his weight back down on his chair. I could sense the situation getting out of hand, and that was not fucking good. I knew I had to do something, and quick. So I sighed deeply and did the only thing I could think of to protect that moron of mine even though I knew I would probably have to deal with the fallout later.

“Fuck off Gerard”, I drawled lazily and promptly earned the sight of a flash of hurt ghosting over his face; mixed with confusion. Obviously he didn’t get that I was trying to save his stupid ass. Fucking idiot. When he opened his mouth to say something, I cut him off.  
“I said fuck off Gerard, got something on your ears? Don’t fuckin’ strain my patience or I’m gonna make it hurt later and you don’t want that again now, do you?”  
The immediate, blank fury in Gerard’s face almost made me regret what I just said, but I reminded myself that I had to do it. Gerard had not the slightest fucking clue of prison hierarchy, and that you can’t just fucking run around and piss off the first guy that gets into your face – he had to learn that, and I didn’t care if he learned it the hard way.  
And messing with a criminal organization – even I hadn’t deemed him that crazy. Obviously he was either too stupid or too naïve or maybe just to snotty to see that the people he was provoking weren’t only capable of destroying his own life, but also the ones of everyone he ever loved.  
So in order to protect him I had to make it look like he was no real threat. Like he was my bitch, who admittedly didn’t know his place yet, but who was also not to be taken seriously either. A prison whore, nothing else. I hoped they’d buy into it and hopefully would refrain from slitting his throat in the showers. 

With a last look of pure hatred Gerard pushed back his seat and stomped out of the hall without turning back. I sighed and briefly closed my eyes; knowing already where I would probably find him later.  
When I re-opened them Emilio was watching me with an unreadable expression, like he was sizing me up to see if I had been bluffing earlier, but I kept my poker face. I wouldn’t give the bitch even the slightest benefit of doubting me.  
“Well then”, he said abruptly; “let’s get down to business now, shall we?” There was that grin I hated so much already again. “Because I have a very lucrative offer for you Frank, and you would be all levels of stupid if you refused.”

 

\--

I found Gerard exactly where I’d suspected to find him; sitting cross legged on the ground in a small corner of the yard, his back against the fence and his head tilted back, blowing smoke into the frosty afternoon air. When he noticed me approaching him he responded by bringing his cigarette to his lips and then sucking the rest of it down in one big inhale, making the blaze glow furiously before dropping and stubbing it out on the frozen blades of grass. If that wasn’t a metaphor for his level of currently-pissed-off-with-me, then I don’t know. I took a quick breath and flopped down next to him, swearing as the goddamn icy ground began immediately invading the warmth of my sweatpants.  
“I have absolutely no idea how you can sit in the mud like that for so long without freezing your balls off”, I muttered, trying to adjust my ass.  
Gerard merely snorted and lit himself another cigarette. “Have you come to fuck with me or fuck _me_ , Frankie?” he taunted bitterly, taking a drag and exhaling through pursed lips. “Like you announced before?” I rolled my eyes and reached for his pack.  
“Are you gonna make it hurt?” he purred and I stopped fumbling with my lighter for a second in order to glare at him.  
“Do you want to do it right here?” Gerard asked, taking another drag and then letting out a blissful sigh at the nicotine burn in his lungs. “Should I spread my legs for you right now?”  
“Jesus Christ, cut that shit!” I spat, taking the first drag of that shitty day myself and then keeping my eyes from rolling back in their goddamned sockets because sometimes a fucking cigarette was just.so. _good_.  
“Seriously, quit fucking around Gerard, you know I only said that to protect your pathetic ass!”  
“Is that so?” he interrupted me with a sharp hiss. “Well then, maybe I should get down on my knees and be grateful, don’t you think?”  
“For Christ’s sake, you better shut it right now or I’m gonna punch you; ‘m not kidding!” I felt my anger bubbling up again and tried to suffocate it by keeping the next drag in my lungs as long as I could without coughing.  
“You ungrateful little shit. You behaved like a fucking idiot out there; you could have easily gotten us both killed!” Gerard didn’t face me directly, but I could see his brows furrowing tightly. “See, I don’t know how it’s been in the loony bin, but here things are different. Start a riot, get a lockdown, stab two inmates in the midst of all the chaos and get away with no one ever knowing it was you who did it. They’d file a report, send condolences to your family and that’s it. You’re wiped out and there’s no one to frame for it. So you’re welcome”, I concluded and snatched the battered pack of smokes from Gerard’s cold hands just after he slipped out another one; “and stop fucking chain-smoking my cigarettes, I earned them!”

“You won them.” his face relaxed again and a tiny smile crept up his lips. “You gamble. You’re good at poker, you’ll win another pack.”  
“I know”, I huffed, exhaling slowly. “Doesn’t mean you get to take advantage of me though!”  
I poked him in his leg and he giggled softly. “Stupid fucking i-“, I managed to get out before he silenced the rest of it with his lips, just barely touching mine at first, like he was testing out if I’d let him, if it was okay to do it. Of course I let him. Somehow I couldn’t find myself able to deny him anything. I still held the half smoked cigarette in my right hand, letting it slowly burn down to the filter while the other one sneaked up Gerard’s throat to the back of his skull, slowly raking through his hair and softly, almost gently pulling at it until he sighed into my mouth. I knew I had to stop it, but when he opened up I allowed myself to get lost in the moment for just a little longer, teasing him and teasing myself, up to the point I could feel myself tensing up and suddenly involuntarily yanked Gerard back by his hair, causing him to yelp in surprise.  
“I’m sorry”, I choked out, letting go of his hair, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to- fuck!” I hurried to my feet and began dusting myself off.  
“Frank, I-“, Gerard began calmly, but I felt like I was very close to losing my shit so I just grabbed my remaining smokes and muttered “Sorry Gee” more to myself than to him and left, before I’d allowed myself to say something I’d probably, very deeply regret. 

\--

I was sitting at the small, square table scribbling onto a piece of paper when he later came back in, a pretty red flush on his cheeks, but otherwise looking frozen to the fucking bone.  
“Healy dragged me in”, he explained, shrugging out of his sweater and pants, carelessly piling them in the middle of the damn cell. “Said he wasn’t gonna let me freeze to death; too much paperwork for him!” Gerard laughed. I nodded, but didn’t dare turning around. The awkwardness from before was still hanging over our heads like a big, uncomfortable cloud and I wasn’t really in the mood for a chick-flick-moment. A second after I heard Gerard chucking off his shoes and climbing up his bunk the cells were closed shut with that obnoxiously brain-wrecking sound that I swear to god will probably haunt me for the rest of my life.  
So spare time was over, and we’d be locked down again until dinner. Which was, if I’m not mistaken, in about three hours time.  
“Watcha writin’?” Gerard asked after a while, startling me. I closed my eyes for a brief second, slowly exhaling through my mouth.  
“Nothing.”  
“That doesn’t look like nothing to me”, Gerard said. When he got no answer, he went on. “Are you writing a journal? A story? Lyrics? A letter? To your girlfriend?”  
Jesus Christ was he chatty today.  
“No.”  
“Is it a l-“  
“See Gerard”, I cut him off without turning around. “Why don’t you just go bother about your own shit?”  
“Jesus, I’m sorry”, he huffed out quizzically; “I was just making conversation.”  
“Well don’t.” I gritted out between clenched teeth and he seemed to get the message, since he flopped down on his creaky mattress and didn’t say another word for almost an hour. 

After what seemed a little eternity of silence however Gerard re-emerged from his self-imposed exile; clearing his throat.  
“I’m gonna have sex with you”, he said casually, letting his feet dangling from the edge of his bunk. I almost choked on the piece of gum I’d been chewing on. What the hell? Where did that come from? That kid really was a fucking jack-in-a-box; you never knew when his crazy side would jump out and freak the fuck out of you.  
“What?” I blurted because honestly, after an hour of fucking silent treatment that was the last thing I’d expected him to say. I slowly turned around in my chair, but he only clicked his tongue and continued staring at me with his huge, pretty eyes.  
“I said-“  
“I know what you said”, I cut him off; “and just in case you didn’t get my exclaim of utter confusion, I’ll repeat it: what. the. actual. fuck?”  
He tilted his head a little before parting his lips into a tiny smile.  
“Like I said, I’m gonna have sex with you. Like, proper sex this time.”  
“I thought we already talked about this.” I said a little harsher than intended and his smile faltered a bit.  
“Uh, no? You barked your opinion – which is shit by the way – into my face without even letting me have a say in it. You call that _talking_? Fuckin’ ace.” Gerard snapped. I capped my pen and slipped it into the notebook I’d been writing in, turning my attention to Gerard, who was now tapping his fingers on the metal bedframe in annoyance.  
“Look, it’s nothing personal, but I’m gonna be transferred in I don’t know, three or four months or so and I just don’t need any avoidable drama-“  
Gerard crossed his arms in front of his chest; pursing his lips into a pout.  
"Are you trying to say I’m causing drama?" He mumbled sullenly.  
“Matter of fact I am”, I replied; pushing myself off the chair and crossing the small space between the table and the bunkbed in one easy step. “You really don’t want me to name all the reasons why you’re an unstable fucking time bomb and therefore yes, a fucking reason for drama!” He quirked an eyebrow up at me challengingly and I shoved him in return, causing him to lose his balance and almost drop off his bunk.  
“Dammit, you’re a fuckin asshole Frank Iero, I knew it from the moment they dragged me into your stinky cell!” I shrugged and ducked back down into my own bunk.  
“Yeah whatever, it’s not like you’re a fuckin saint, so guess we’ll both just have to suck it up, eh?”  
I listened to Gerard snuggling into his thin mattress until he found a comfortable position.  
“Guess you’re right”, he yawned. “I think I’m gonna sleep now, Frankie.”  
I rolled my eyes at the bottom side of his mattress, smiling.  
“Gee, mealtime’s in like, 20 minutes. Sleeping now won’t really pay off.”  
“Don’t give a fuck”, Gerard replied sleepily; “M’not gonna eat anyway.”  
I sighed and picked up Frankenstein for the billionth time; mostly so I could occupy my restless fingers.  
“Frankie?”  
“Jesus.” I put down the book. “What?”  
“About the sex though-“  
It was like I could almost see his sleepy face, curled into the pillow and flashing the most shit eating grin known to man.  
“Fuck off, asshole!” Much to my own surprise, there was for once no anger in my words. A small, muffled laugh piped up for a second and then dripped off into a soft, snoring sound. The fucker had seriously fallen asleep on me. I listened into all the noise around us, the chatter, the occasional calls; that one Puerto Rican guy in the cell next to us praying again, his cellmate telling him to “pray quiet because frickin’ Jesus doesn’t help getting me off” – the clattering sound Marone’s baton made when he dragged it along the iron bars – it was far from quiet in here, but Gerard had managed to fall asleep nonetheless. It was this exact kind of child-like innocence that seemed to be drawing me in.  
Maybe it was because I hadn’t seen innocence in a long, long time. I don’t know. 

When I returned from dinner Gerard was still fast asleep, drooling lightly onto his pillow. This time I was fully aware of the warmth building in my chest and I hated every bit of it. Nonetheless I carefully sat down the piece of chocolate cake I snatched just before onto the mattress next to his head before ducking down into my own bunk and drifting off within minutes. 

 

\--

 

The next morning I must have overslept wake up call, because when Marone banged his fucking baton against the opened cell door; jerking me awake in the process, Gerard seemed long gone.  
“Get up you piece of shit, it’s shower time!”  
“What-?” I mumbled groggily, rubbing my aching temples. “What time is it?”  
“Time for you to get your scrawny ass clean, sleeping beauty! Your little bunk buddy’s already having fun in the showers; I bet you’d like to join him!”  
Feeling too disoriented to properly react to Marone’s stupid taunting I merely groaned and reached for my towel. I felt like an 18 wheeler had run over me the past night, and Marone’s constant blabber wasn’t really helping my headaches.  
“That’s a good boy, now get going!” I successfully resisted the urge to tell him to go fuck himself and dragged myself forward ever so slowly, trying to wake myself up a little on my way over to the showers. The thought why on earth Gerard hadn’t woken me up gnawed at the back of my mind, but was blown away when I neared the shower section and the chaos that engulfed it.  
Judging from all the screaming and cheering there must have been something going on there, some kind of fight. Or maybe something else, something one was way less happy to get involved in.  
Figuring I might as well know what was going on before entering I grabbed the nearest guy by his shoulder and spun him around. It was the dude with enormous hair and Jersey origins like me, who I occasionally saw and greeted at lunch – name was Roy or Ray or something like that.  
“Jeez damn, what’s going on in there?” I asked, clenching my teeth because the headache seemed to get worse. He threw me a worried glance before answering.  
“Oh, apparently José’s both out of the infirmary and out for blood!” he brought his head closer in order to whisper conspiratorially; invading my fucking private space. “You know; the one who broke his fucking arm? The crazy one from psych? Heard José found him, and – hold on-“; he grabbed my arm just as I was about to storm into the showers.  
“What?” I hissed, suddenly feeling nauseous and obnoxiously awake.  
“You don’t wanna go in there dude, José’s fuckin mental! He’s gonna rip that basket case apart, trust me, you don’t want anything to do with it!”  
“Fuck you, let me go”, I yelled, ripping my arm free. Suddenly Ray or Roy or whoever looked at me very strangely before slowly adding one to one and then mouthing “Oh.”  
I wanted to punch him in the face, but instead I just muttered “Yeah, go take that ‘oh’ and shove it up your ass!” before quickly walking off.

 

I had to find Gerard. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.


	7. Pelican Bay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: rape/non-con

I don’t know what I was expecting when I went in, but I can’t remember my heart ever pounding that fast before. It practically hammered against my ribcage. Inside the shower rooms a small crowd of inmates had piled up, blocking my view from what was going on. It was loud and it was hectic, but my ears felt deaf. I grabbed the first guy I reached and spun him around; knocking him hard in the jaw until I could hear the bone crack. The prompt, spiking shudder of pain shooting through my own hand caused me to clench my teeth; but I bit it back and kept going.  
As the guy went down I stepped over his body with little care, almost slipping on the slick floor. I could hear my own pulse thumping against my eardrums, a low but rapid, unforgiving tone. My mind was occupied by only one thought.  
One name. 

People pushed and grabbed at me, but I moved like a robot; shoving a few other cons out of my way, kicking in someone’s kneecap in the process, but it gave me very little satisfaction. When I finally breached through the gaping, jeering, drooling crowd, the last thing I saw was José thrusting into him – _fuck, no_ – into Gerard with one last, primal grunt before slipping out and releasing the iron grip on his bare hips, dropping him to the floor like a discarded piece of trash. 

I saw death.

Literally, every muscle inside of me screamed murder, and I didn’t even particularly know why that was, but seeing Gerard in any state like this planted some kind of fury deep within my fucking guts it almost scared myself. Because whatever had been going on between us put aside, this was something I wouldn’t even wish on my enemies.  
I was shaking with blind rage by the time I threw myself at the giant Spanish man; clawing at his face and then lacing my fingers around his throat; squeezing tighter with every cut-off breath I took. He tried to shake me off, but here my short height actually gained me some advance for a change. I was so far off the hook the cheers from the other cons around me didn’t even really get through to me; they seemed muffled and distorted, like a crackling in an old record.  
I would’ve killed him. I would have killed him right there, but then there were fucking guards pulling me away, some of which I’d never even seen before. I thrashed around blindly before deflating so suddenly, like I’d been popped and whatever had kept me going was leaving me fast; my rage subsiding along with it. I half expected to be carried off to solitary for a moment, but then they let me go, and my first impulse was to crawl over to Gerard.  
Through my thick focus on him I suddenly heard Healy’s voice barking out commands and it surprised me to hear him and not that asshole Phearson, but I didn’t bother to turn around. Not when I had almost reached Gerard. I didn’t even turn around when José bit out a laugh and sneered in a cracked, raspy voice with just a slight edge of pain to it: “A little thank you would be nice, fish! I just readied your little prison wife for you!”  
My gaze flickered over to where Gerard was slumped on the floor still; muscles in his shoulders twitching while the water from one shower head was dropping down on him steadily.  
“Opened him up a bit”, the Hispanic taunted. “Made him nice and loose.”

No one in the room said a fucking word. No one went to help Gerard either. My pulse thumped against the insides of my veins with such vigor it was hardly bearable. It was that gigantic piece of Spanish shit that once more tore me from my apathy by spitting on the floor right next to Gerard.  
 _“Puta.”_

I felt the rage inside me pulse against the back of my eyes in hot waves, causing me to struggle in vain against the CO’s iron grip holding me back. Then, so quiet I almost missed it, Gerard’s shredded voice rose, merging into the water flow.  
“Mistake”, he hissed, head still down, trying to push himself up from the dirty tiles with shaking arms.  
“Big fucking mistake.” I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes and trying to calm down. José snorted, seeming like he was about to let another derogatory comment slip, but before I could even open my mouth Healy’s baton came down on that worthless imbecile’s back and I forced myself to savor the dull thump and his agonized groan; biting my tongue because I knew that was all I was going to get.  
Healy then ushered everyone out, telling his subordinates to escort them back and lock them down; before turning and addressing Ray.  
I craned my head back instantly, now remembering him clear as day.

 

-

“Ray’s the name, Ray Toro.” He was flashing me a huge ass grin, to which I cautiously raised an eyebrow. After all, you don’t get a grin like that from an inmate you barely know all that often. He shot me a disarming look. “Sorry man, but when I heard the fish was a kid from Belleville, I just had to see for myself! ‘Cause – well, you know, I happen to be from that shithole called Jersey too.” _So?_ That actually kind of gained my interest. I looked up at him beaming down at me, squinting from the afternoon sunlight. I took my time sliding a cigarette from my halfway smoked pack and lighting it; even offering one to him before I finally said: “Where from?”  
“Newark”, he answered, his ridiculous hair bouncing on his head as he motioned at the empty piece of wooden bench next to my frozen ass.  
“Dude, mind if I sit?”  
I sighed briefly, and shook my head no. 

 

-

Ray. Ray must have gotten the guards. I decided that I was very fucking grateful for that before turning around and dropping to my knees next to Gerard’s slightly shivering form. After a failed attempt at pushing himself up he had managed to curl up a little on the tiled floor, his knees drawn up to his chest and his wet, ink black hair sticking to his face and neck. My hand darted out to make out his injuries, but froze a few inches above his battered skin, not daring to touch him. A lazy trail of blood was seeping from between his legs, mixing with the lukewarm water that was still spilling from one of the shower heads and trailing down the drain.  
I didn’t turn around when I heard Healy approaching and then stopping in his tracks to address the only other guard left in the showers.  
“Hank, get Iero to join Toro and bring them back to their cells. Medical attention will be here soon enough, I won’t be needing anyone standing in the way.” I felt he was speaking to me rather than to his colleague, and his tone was surprisingly, no, _suspiciously_ gentle.  
I didn’t care.

I didn’t give a fuck about SHU, or whatever they would have in stall for me for refusing to obey.  
“I’m not going.” I said, and surprised myself that my voice was barely shaking.  
“Iero”, Healy began slowly, “Your cellmate will be taken care of, I promise. Now go, I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”  
“Fuck off”, I muttered, putting my hand onto Gerard’s side and trying not to jerk back when he winced. I half expected Healy to call Phearson or Marone or whatever asshole he had in that little squad of his; cart me off and be done with it, but instead he just sighed.  
“Alright Toro, let’s get going. Hank –wait outside and make sure Iero doesn’t get any funny ideas. Iero, you have maybe two more minutes.” Then he simply walked away. 

“Gerard”, I cried out softly as soon as they were gone, realizing that my eyes had begun tearing up. “Fuck what happened, Gerard, what the fuck happened?” I flexed my fists helplessly for a second before reaching out to gather Gerard’s naked, broken looking frame up. Much to my surprise he didn’t recoil or panic at the touch, but rather let himself be cradled into my arms and rocked back and forth slightly.  
I ignored my pajamas slowly soaking wet with the lukewarm puddle we were crouching in. Blinking the stupid, useless tears away furiously, I let my gaze flicker around the room; scanning it for something, anything to cover Gerard up with, but I found nothing, not even my own towel I had brought with me.  
Gerard let out a low, exhausted sound when I started brushing the damp hair from his face with clammy fingers. Then, much to my surprise, he began pulling himself up, using my body as leverage.  
“F-Frankie”, he croaked, clearing his throat to get the rasp out of his voice. “You weren’t – fuck – you weren’t supposed to see me like that”, he choked out, groaning in pain at trying to maneuver himself into a somewhat kneeling position. I quickly took off my pajama top and threw it over his lap so he could cover himself up.  
“Shut up, Gerard”, I muttered and put my arm around his shoulders, squeezing tight. _Why didn’t you wait up on me,_ I wanted to ask. _Why didn’t you wake me? I could have_ – yeah what? Protected him? If it came down to it, we still just were two bony white kids from Jersey, admittedly mean as hell, but it wouldn’t buy us scrap. We would’ve been done for still. Gerard would’ve been done for still. Maybe they would have even made me watch.  
I could see his gaze darting around, trying to focus on anything but reality while furiously blinking back his tears. I untangled my arm from his shoulders to wipe his stubborn bangs from his sweaty forehead, keeping my breathing steady even though my pulse was pounding against my wrists.  
“Our lady of sorrows”, Gerard muttered promptly as I moved my arm, reaching for it, a tiny smile curling on his chapped lips. It reminded me that that was the second time I heard him point her out.  
“Yeah, what about her?” I asked, because for one, I was intended on distracting him, and apart from that, I wanted to know. So far I gathered that in all his craziness Gerard didn’t seem to do or say anything without reason. There was almost always some kind of purpose he was following, even if it often seemed ridiculous to others. So I wanted to know why he was so infatuated with that tattoo. 

He still smiled when he reached out to touch her again, his eyes glazing over.  
“She is beautiful”, he mumbled.  
“She is just a tattoo”, I replied slowly, beginning to feel strange. It was as if Gerard was slipping away into another episode, but different this time, and it scared me. I’m no fucking shrink, I don’t know scrap about mental illnesses and crap like that, but I’ve seen shit happening to people’s brains before. Only then it most of the time had been the result of use or overdose and not trauma. But what Gerard just endured – figure it would pretty much do the trick.  
I swallowed sharply, watching him slip through my fingers.  
“She’s so much more than that”, he whispered. “She’s the embodiment of pain. _Of enduring pain._ ” He cracked a bitter laugh. “Isn’t that ironic, Frank?”  
I didn’t even get the chance to stammer something in response, because then a dry sob was ripping through him, and I put my arms back around him quickly.  
He turned his head and pressed it into the crook of my neck; sucking in a sharp breath before lowering his left hand behind his body and _touch._  
“Gerard-“, I began, almost recoiling from my own strangled voice. I didn’t want him to do it. To feel it. To get certainty of the ordeal he just went through. If I could, I would’ve stopped him, but what for? He would try and _see_ for himself eventually, and who the heck was I to keep him from doing so?  
I could feel it though. The exact moment he broke. Another choked sob was torn from his throat when he brought his hand back, and it was streaked with blood.  
Blood, and another man’s come. 

“Shit.” He looked at it and looked and couldn’t tear is gaze off; breathing becoming more ragged by the second and sobs convulsing his body so fiercely I just acted; grabbed him by his hair and shoved his head back against my chest, holding him there and muttering softly to him while the water dripping down on us was slowly becoming less and less.  
I wondered where the fuck that ‘medical attention’ Healy promised was, because it seemed like we’d been sitting on the floor like this for an eternity already.

After a while Gerard dragged his stained hand across the slick floor, smearing the tiles with blood.  
“Gerard”, I began, cutting myself off.  
“He came inside”, Gerard bit out sharply, slowly building up his walls again. “Who knows what kind of diseases that man gave me. Worthless piece of _shit_.” His free hand reached for my shoulder, fingers digging down into skin immediately. “I’m sorry I’m tainted now, Frankie”; his half-sob-half-chuckle was hollow. “I really wanted to fuck you, you know”, he pulled back and looked me in the eyes, his own rimmed red; bottom lip quivering as he tried pulling it into a lopsided smile.  
“Fuck you, Gerard, I-“  
“I’m just glad it wasn’t you”, he cut me off, sounding far, far away all of a sudden. I involuntarily tightened my arm around his shoulders, feeling my throat constricting painfully.  
“Why- why the hell are you saying that?” I grimaced. 

Gerard suddenly went to look at me again, a small, strange smile on his bruised lips, his eyes shining with something raw. Something destructive.  
“Because that’s what he said before he smacked my head against the wall and almost blew my fuckin’ lights out, Frankie.” He leaned back and pursed his lips, letting his voice drop a few octaves to make it sound like José’s. “Make sure Iero doesn’t fuck up, or I’ll fuck him up next.” Gerard’s eyes narrowed down then, scanning mine for a reaction I was not willing to give.  
“I have no fucking clue what he meant by that, Frankie”, he said warily. “But I really didn’t like the idea of anyone doing this to you.” He smiled. “Does that make me crazy?”  
Instead of answering I pulled his head close, pressing a kiss into his damp hair.  
“You’re already crazy, dumbass.” I whispered. I tried really hard not to let show that I was fucking crying into that stupid fucking stubborn mop on his head. “You come from the nuthouse, remember?”

That elicited a small giggle from the depths of Gerard’s guts, causing him to shift and immediately yelp in pain.  
“Shit.”  
“Stop moving.” I unwrapped my arm once more, shuffling away a bit so I was crouching in front of him.  
“You fucked with the wrong people, Frankie”, Gerard breathed, turning dangerously white. “I have no idea what you- what you did, but–“ I shot him an alarmed glance.  
“Gee! Stay awake you fucker, don’t pass out on me now!” I yelped, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at me, but he ever so slightly shook his head.  
“It hurts, Frankie, it hurts like hell. And I think I’m gonna pass out now because I really don’t wanna be awake for what’s next.” I cringed, knowing all too well what he meant. The examinations. The questions. The dirty looks. I would’ve probably wanted to be out for it as well.  
Gerard then closed his eyes, letting his weight drop against me just like that. I shifted him, trying to arrange us both into a more comfortable position, and failing miserably. 

“Frankie?” Gerard’s voice piped up weakly.  
“Huh?”  
“Thanks for staying.” Instead of replying I squeezed him briefly before loosening my grip a little upon realizing I’d been holding him almost too tight. 

Then I waited for his breathing to even out, and his consciousness to begin slipping away, but it didn’t. The universe obviously wasn’t that merciful. Gerard let out a painful, frustrated sigh, causing me to bite the inside of my cheek until I felt the skin split beneath my teeth. I began raking my hands through his thick, black hair then once, twice, just to keep both our minds occupied.  
“I’m not going away, you know”, I murmured so softly I wasn’t even sure Gerard had heard me. 

 

After that it didn’t take long for the medics to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, this was supposed to be a longer chapter, but I decided to split it up and post it seperately. Writing this part has hit home with me quite a bit and therefore I want it to stand and take effect on its own. 
> 
> Hence the next chapter will probably come along quite a bit faster though, since I've written half of it out already. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, and i don't know if I already pointed it out or not, but 'fish' is a slang word for the 'new kid' - as you may - in prison.


	8. Chapter 8

First of all, sorry to all you lovely souls out there who thougt I was gonna post a new chapter - I just want to say I WILL UPDATE MY STORIES!(and sooner than y'all probably thought, hehe.)

The reason why I've been so inactive around the last few months was first my two month trip to the United States and second, a new relationship and lots and lots of university troubles. Also, my mental health was not always at it's peak, so to say. So I felt like if I had updated any of my stories, it would've been without soul, and not at the level I normally maintain. 

But enough of this hiatus, I have regained fresh wind, and I will post new chapters to both my main stories before Halloween!   
Thanks again to all of you who sticked with me, and sent me all those lovely comments - you are the reason I'm still going! 

So see you at the next chapter!


	9. Arkham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end of this chapter for some personal notes on why the fuck it is so short, and other stuff. :)

I don’t know why he never came to visit me, but he never did. And I wasn’t even really angry at him for it, you know. I don’t know; it kinda felt like we had some silent understanding about it. The whole thing itself was shameful enough. Disgusting enough. Lying in this crappy excuse for a hospital bed for over a week now gave me that kind of distant clarity you sometimes get about things. I mean, all of you have probably gone through this at some point in your lives. Something happens. Something horrible, so horrible you feel like it’s ripping you apart in that very moment. You think your world is burning down in front of you, and you can’t stop it. Everything is slipping through your fingers while you find yourself crying, begging, pleading for everything to stop, or rather, to go back to ‘normal’.  
I air-quote that on purpose. After all, what is normal? Since everyone is living their own version of reality, how can we define ‘normal’? Whatever, I’m getting distracted.  
Quick touch to the temple – it almost stopped hurting. Even the dull headaches that accompanied me over days seem almost gone by now. Bruises are all what reminds me of- fuck, don’t let me get distracted again.

So you find yourself there, in that scenario, feeling like losing your fucking mind, and you start acting irrational. You desperately want to remove yourself from the thing, whatever it is that causes you so much pain, but you can’t, and the very fact that you can’t fills you with an indescribable amount of self-hatred. But the path towards that point I’m talking of, that point of detachment where you feel like it doesn’t really affect you anymore, but rather you’re witnessing someone else’s suffering from a spectator’s point of view, is hard. And long. And, if you ask me, it’s some kind of self-defense mechanism the brain develops, because thinking about what happened to us, how we reacted and how much it _hurt_ , are too much to take at once. So after days, weeks, however long it may take, you finally reach that long desired distance. Funny how watching everything through an imagined veil of glass can be so soothing and so frightening at once. Frightening because deep down you know that it is _your_ problem and yours only – but not for the moment, for the moment you are nothing but a silent observer. 

For me the path had taken its toll over the course of, what was it, one and a half weeks? At first I was constantly drifting in and out of strange, painkiller-induced nightmares; then they took the pills away. From that point on, everything was the same as back in psych. I was trapped in a maze of my own thoughts, and sporadic visits from Dr. Chapman, the prison psychiatrist. Not that she wasn’t nice – in the sense of as nice as working with hardened felons allows you to be – not that she wasn’t trying. But she is old, and I somehow think she gave up on me. Scratch that, I think she gave up on us all. She’s probably sitting in her office every single day, waiting on the relief of retirement. 

I don’t know why my mind is floating away so many times. Probably also a defense mechanism. Like my brain just decided that the rest of my body can go fuck itself, and it stopped working properly. Maybe to save what’s left of my sanity. I thought of Frank often. He was the first thing that flashed through my mind when I came to. His face, to be honest. I remember sobbing my fucking eyes out when no one was in the room and I wasn’t too dizzy from the meds; whispering Frank’s name over and over again. I don’t know why I did that. Nor do I know what I’m supposed to do now. Some time ago, I might have considered killing myself. Why not, after all, the universe just gave me one more reason to.  
See, I’m not the vengeful kind. I do think José should die, his mouth stuffed with soil from the grave he just before dug for himself, but I think I’ve reached a point where I got too indifferent. I’ll probably have to slit his throat at some point, but right now I see no need for it. It’ll scare him. It’ll scare him shitless, that - after what I did to his arm – now I’m not doing anything. I can almost feel a weak smile creep upon my chapped lips at the thought of it. 

I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about Frank, though. I keep seeing his face everywhere, hearing his voice in every echoed footstep out in the halls – I guess I’ll never be able to forget him. However this all plays out, whether he or I will get out of here alive or not – I guess forgetting him will remain a luxury I can’t afford.  
I don’t know how it even happened, with Frank and me. With Bert, I knew it was because he was the only one interesting. Was it the same with Frank? Or was he the only one there? Or did I do it on purpose to hurt myself? Why can’t I stop thinking of him?  
I notice my hands clawing the rough sheets beneath me and try to calm my mind. I fucking hate that I can feel the tears welling up behind my eyelids. I should have learned to let them flow a long time ago, but apparently I’m too stubborn. If it was any use, I would cry over my own woefulness.

Upon grazing my fingertips over my scalp I realize it’s sore and swollen. For the first time since I don’t know when I lift my head enough to take a look at the pillow beneath me. What I see should have shocked me, but it didn’t. I wish it had. I wish I was still normal. I could cry from that thought alone.  
It was littered with tendrils of thick, black hair. My nails were dried with blood. I quickly try to wipe them on the sheets beneath the pillow, where the nurse wouldn’t see. I wipe my own hair from the bed onto the floor, feeling like wiping myself down with them.  
After that I feel so exhausted, like there is just no spur left inside of me. There is a sandwich resting on the bedside table, it looks like turkey and cheese. I know I’m going to eat it later. I have to get stronger. I don’t know why, but I have to. I have to get back on my feet. I should have been, but I’m not. I’m not done yet.  
I smile the first genuine smile in ages. 

 

I was so invested in my own moment; I didn’t even notice the door gets pushed open.  
“You have ten minutes, if he’s asleep I’ll get you right away. If you want out, knock, and I’ll get you. Understood? Well.” The nurse turns on his heel and lets the door fall closed.

I hear footsteps over the floor, and the telling jingle of chains and handcuffs. I feel myself holding my breath until my lungs burn. 

When he talks, it’s with a voice that hasn’t been used in a long time.  
“Gerard.”  
It’s a statement, not a question. It’s that strange kind of clarity.

 

I finally exhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so at first I want to express my complete and utter gratitude towards you, yeah every single one who is reading this story, or any of my stories.  
> I would have never in my wildest dreams guessed how much positive resonance and feedback I would get, still, after over half a year that's passed. 
> 
> You really ARE the reason I keep going. You made me smile so much, I can't tell you. :)
> 
> To this chapter in particular. I know it's short, but it's exactly how I felt it needs to be. I'm going through a rough patch in my life again, so what Gerard expresses is heartfelt. And I think that feeling really can be applied to a lot of situations. 
> 
> To top it all off I had all my wisdom teeth extracted in surgery this week, and I'm still in a lot of pain.... it's horrible. So in between all this, I just want to thank you for sticking with me through the good and the bad times, and let's hope that life won't drag me down too hard and I'll be able to move on building this story.  
> And bear with me, I'm a little rusty, I haven't written anything serious in a long time. :)
> 
> Love you all from the bottom of my heart.


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